


On Griffin's Wings

by antivanwarden



Series: The Griffin of Enna [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Blood and Violence, Canon Continuation, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury, Magic, Minor Character Death, Original Character(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Canon, original storyline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-18 13:25:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 52,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14214093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antivanwarden/pseuds/antivanwarden
Summary: Believing she was the only griffin school witcher left after the slaughter of her comrades, Cerissa Lamonia returns home to Enna in Kovir and Poviss and struggles to find balance between her life as a witcher and as a noble. Seeking revenge for the murder of her master, countless little missteps lead to her almost getting killed by a bruxa. Spared by an intimidating witcher of the wolf school, Eskel offers Cerissa the new start she might have been looking for all along.Note: Geralt is tagged, but does not have an active role until the end.





	1. Prologue

Humans as a rule fear what they don't understand or can't control. They've always been this way, and there's nothing that can be done to change it. And yet, when the darkness creeps in and there's one too many bumps in a night they always manage to find it in themselves to put the screams of insults behind them and put up a notice for one of us.

As hated as we are, we get results.

But just like ordinary humans, we have our flaws. I would not claim to be perfect or without my own wrong doings, nor would I say that I am more than what I am. What they call me is true enough- I am a freak, and my body is the product of mutations. But not in the way they seem to think with rituals under the full moon or consorting with witches.

No, I'm simply a monster killer. One who keeps balance between two worlds thrown together by forces even I can't comprehend and I doubt any mortal could. 

They'll leer as one of us pass, spit and and curse us. Child thieves. Mutants. Pox-ridden freak. And yet, when someone suddenly goes missing or the old crypt by town starts creaking at night it's our services they pray for. And while we may get muttered thanks, more often than not a coin purse is thrown at my feet and I'm shouted at to be on my way before my disease spreads.

This is what it means to be a witcher.


	2. The Path

Kneeling on the dusty floor of a building long abandoned by those who owned it, a familiar scene played out that she had seen so many times before. Eyes gently closed and features shadowed by the faint purple circle around her, someone passing by would have thought the young woman was smirking. Outside she could clearly hear the loud protests of a little girl whose game was not going the way she had intended, yet the woman focused her senses instead down the stone stairs before her- searching for the elusive scratching she had been listening to all night.

In front of her were two swords laid parallel to each other, one glistening with an oil she applied over a long soured ale at the local tavern that morning. The people here had been friendly enough to let a witcher sit among them, a few curious children had even approached before being shooed off by their parents. Her lips twitched the slightest bit at her amusement that many still thought she would snatch a child without second thought.

Their guild was dying, she would readily say that, and with no schools actively training new candidates to receive silver swords of their own there was no way to tell what the future would hold for the common person. It was one of few things that worried her on a regular basis.

There was the clattering of a rock down the stairs and she opened one eye to find a faint glow. She grimaced, barely making out the contorted face of the wraith that awaited her. Sighing, she let both eyes open and reached into a pouch on her side for a bottle of gray liquid before pulling the cork loose and downing the contents with a wince.

She could feel her pupils focus as easily as though it was daylight, the few torches that dotted the crypt shimmering even brighter now. The world had a gray-tinted haze and while it wasn't perfect, it was better. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the protective sigils around her and gathered up her swords. Keeping on eye on the persistent gaze of this crypt's occupant, she easily clipped the steel sword in place at her hip and tied the scabbard of her silver one in place before rising to her feet with the shimmering blade in hand.

“Why have you come? Why won't you leave this place?” The spirit hissed, as loud as though it had whispered in her ear.

“You don't belong among the living,” she answered simply, the words almost sounding like an incantation. “This world is not for you. You must leave.”

The wraith screamed in response and rushed up the stairs at her, one skeletal hand outstretched. The woman rolled backwards, drawing a symbol in the air with her fingers that left her body shimmering faintly. Again the spirit lunged and she sidestepped easily, bringing her blade around and almost relishing the sound of the blade slicing through the wraith. It wailed, hurrying several paces away from her, but the witcher gave chase and pressed the advantage. Another swipe of her blade ran along the wraith's chest, the cut erupting into an explosion of ash that dusted the woman's face. The wraith answered with heavily clamping one hand down on her shoulder and pressing its nails into her flesh, the blow met with what sounded like shattering glass and a flash of light that stunned the wraith long enough for the woman to wriggle free and drive her blade into what should have been the wraith's chest.

The wraith let out one more cry before dissipating in a cloud of ash and light just as the witcher's potion wore off and left her in same darkness that had surrounded her before. The woman's chest heaved, rubbing her face against her shoulder in an attempt to get some of the dust off and sliding her sword back into the scabbard. She gathered up the torn rags left behind by the wraith and stashed them away into her pack. Hopefully it would be enough of a trophy to collect her reward. Casting one more glance around the crypt, she left the relative gloom behind her and made sure to push the stone door back into place before making her way back to the village.

 

 

The laughter and music the filled the tavern made a small grin break across her lips, not being able to turn down the ale that was shoved into her empty hands as the revelry grew. News had spread quickly of her victory over the wraith and what had started as round of drinks for the inn patrons had turned into a full pledge celebration. It was one of the few times she could remember one of her victories being celebrated and she certainly was not turning down the warm meal that one of the patrons bought her.

Smoke from the ovens filled the room and every table had been pushed aside to make room for dancing. This had been going on for several hours and while it showed no sign of slowing, she glanced outside and sighed. Quietly slipping from her bench to pay for another round for the tavern, she lingered for a moment at the door before slipping out to check on her horse.

“Leaving so soon?” A well meaning villager hiccuped, barely able to keep his head up.

“I must ride and make it to my next location before the next moon,” she nodded, stroking the dark nose that lifted out of the feed trough to greet her. A smile tugged at her lips, looking at the intelligent eyes of her most trusted companion.

A witcher's horse was no normal horse.

It pressed its nose into her outstretched hand, biting at the leather before snorting and turning back to its own dinner. The villager groaned, pushing himself up and stumbled over to her before shoving a paper package into her hands. “Big beast you got. Sure takes a lot to feed it.”

A dark, bulkier gelding with hair-tufted hooves, her horse was a gift alongside her first silver sword. Though she had long had the sword reforged into something better suiting her needs, the horse had been one of the few things she had come to rely on. She scratched at his crimped mane, the horse again snorting and flicking its tail so that it brushed against her.

“Easy, Moose.”

The paper was peeling around the edges and she could see the smallest shock of orange that quickly gained Moose's attention. “Hey!” She protested as he reached over her shoulder and pushed the paper away with eager lips, snatching one of the carrots and happily crunching on it with a snort. “At least you're happy.” She let him finish his snack; offered another one that was just as eagerly accepted; then tucked the remaining few away for the time being.

After a quick check of his saddlebags to make sure she had everything she needed, she climbed on and offered the smallest wave to the villager before starting on her way.

 

 

The horizon was just beginning to brighten when she rode under through the brick gates of the town she called home. Far from the reaches of the war of the southern kingdoms, Kovir and Poviss was a loosely united nation-state that laid forgotten by the common folk of the war torn nations of Redania and Velen. Here, bound by law, life continued among wealthy families as it always would in the foreseeable future. Neither coin nor men had been loaned to either side, just as was ordered when Radovid III granted the kingdom its own independence.

In a nation surrounded by mountains rich with resources, a people once destitute had flourished.

A constant mist hung over the country at almost all times, so much so that the witcher wore little metal armor out of caution of it rusting easily. Slowing to just above a canter once past the gates, a few guards snorted out a greeting when she showed her pass to enter the city without leaving Moose's saddle.

“Welcome back, Lady Witcher,” the guard checking the paper nodded, handing her pass back to her. The other leered at her and she did her best to ignore the passing patrol that spat on their way by. “How was your hunt?”

“The same,” she provided, the same tendril of boredom that sometimes showed itself again making her grit her teeth the slightest bit as she carefully folded the paper and tucked it back into one of Moose's saddlebags. She shifted in her saddle slightly, nodded a goodbye, and hurried down the main road.

Despite the hostility from some, her presence was well tolerated among most of the townsfolk. Her small port town, Enna, was near the mouth of the Tango River yet was left alone by enough of the nobles that she could usually exist without fear of witch hunters of the Eternal Fire as long as she agreed to help the occasional townsfolk with any oddities that may occur in their homes. It felt cliché, even to her, but she lived in one of the upper districts in a manor house that had been passed down through her family for generations.

She was an oddity, even among witchers, to even know who her family was and she was fully aware of it. Occasionally there was the fleeting thought of going to meet the remaining members in Nilfgaard but every time she had the thought, a contract would be offered to her and she would disappear into the wilderness for sometimes months on end. That was the excuse she told herself, but she also knew it was due to the fact she simply didn't want to become entangled in something she did not need to.

Her name came with relative animosity and while she was well known in her own country for her skills, her feats certain did not reach the levels of the White Wolf she heard tales of from bard's songs*. Listening to tales of the creatures that had met their end by his blade, she wondered just how much of the stories were just that, tales, and how much was truth. She preferred not to have that sort of renown, though, humbly accepting any and all contracts she could manage within her skill level that didn't require crossing the sea. If she couldn't get there on horseback, she figured, it wasn't her concern.

She sighed, pushing the thought from her mind, and tossed her head in a vain attempt to get her rain soaked hair out of her face. Just beyond the most developed parts of the city, she broke Moose into a full gallop and was greeted by the lamplight of her manor gates before too long. Barely waiting for him to come to a full stop before almost effortlessly dismounting, she handed the reigns to a nearby stable hand and paused to rub her horse's nose with muttered praise.

“Back already, Miss Cerissa?”

“Wasn't what I expected,” she shook her head, smirking when Moose ducked his head to nuzzle her and she planted a soft kiss on the star of white on his forehead. “So my leave was shorter than I intended. Sorry if that's an inconvenience for all of you.”

The young man eagerly shook his head no and Cerissa couldn't help the barely smothered laugh. The young man had worked for her for less than a year and being the newest to her house staff, was always eager to hear tales of her exploits as though they were just as worthy of being sung by bards. He tossed her one of the apples from a nearby basket and watched her with wide eyes when she took a bite and a small glimmer came to her eyes when she tried to defend her snack from her mount. Moose, of course, quickly managed to work a chunk off the fruit and Cerissa surrendered the rest of the fruit to him in turn- losing her appetite on account of the spittle that now glistened on her gloves.

The young man laughed, “You spoil the beast!”

“There's two things in this world a witcher cares for above all else,” Cerissa shrugged and wiped her glove across a pants leg, content to watch Moose greedily crunch on his new trophy. “Their swords and their horse.”

“And if they don't have a horse, miss?”

“Then the Path might be very lonely,” she shooed away her horse when he began sniffing her pockets for more treats. “Not all require companionship, but I at least think it beneficial to have a companion.”

She offered a passing smile that somehow left the young man feeling more cold the reassured, and he turned to his task taking off Moose's saddle and bags. The main house sat amid gardens that while she was here, Cerissa could often be found tending. Many of the beds contained the herbs and roots she needed for her favored oils and potions, while other were simply for a flourish of pink or purple against the gray sky. Pausing to admire one of her plants that grown some since her last visit to the manor, the front doors swung open and an older gentlemen stood in the doorway.

Hands held behind his back and head held high, his eyes contained a certain gentleness when he caught sight of his mistress kneeling among her plants and tugging away weeds with a gentleness he was sure few got to see. From where he stood, he could see her eyes shimmer as they reflected the available light not unlike a cat's and after several long moments he finally called out to her.

“If you're going to work in the gardens, miss, you should at least remove your armor to have it cleaned and tended before doing so.”

Cerissa looked up from a patch of yellow flowers that grew in clusters, but nodded. “You're right, Antony, as usual.”

The man smiled as she carefully worked her way out of the flowerbed and made her way up the front steps to him. He bowed his head in greeting and held out an arm to invite her in.  
  
“Welcome home, mistress Cerissa. Shall I have a bath drawn for you?”

The small widening of her eyes at the suggestion was all the answer he needed before he shooed the woman upstairs to her chambers. Cerissa was known by the town as the resident witcher and was well respected, if not feared at times, while Antony knew her as something different. He had known the woman since she was a child, and had been the one to shield her when bandits came to raid the manor. Barely a young woman at the time, her first blood had only been a few moons beforehand, it wasn't long before she turned her attention to the keep that stood inland.

Then she disappeared altogether.

She would return, he had been sure, and as majordomo had kept the family business and manor in order in her absence. Returning almost a decade later her face had aged in ways that he suspected had nothing to do with the mutations that changed her eyes. Her return was a desperate thing, bleeding and soaked through, a merchant from a nearby manor recognized her enough to bring her injured body to the home. Antony had resumed his careful watch on her ever since.

The study downstairs was filled with books he was sure the witch hunters would consider heresy and have burned, but she had read them enough times to be able to quote their contents without so much as batting an eye. Many, if not all, of the lamps and candles were set up to where she could easily light them with her own brand of magic. While she was away, none of the staff dared to step foot in her study and it was only Antony that ventured in to retrieve her when she got lost in her work. It mattered not that she had little mind for managing the family dimeritium mine, sometimes taking some of the raw ore for her experiments. Cerissa was more interested in the mystery of what had killed the man who taught her the very skills she so held precious and would readily admit that while her skills with sigils and signs was impressive that her book keeping abilities left much to be desired.

She was young, and it was often people forgot just how young she actually was because they confused the legends of the longevity in witchers with her and assumed she too was that old. Antony was easily almost double her parent's ages when they left this world, and could have passed her for grandfather had anyone not known he was staff. He was distant cousin of the family if the truth was to be told but was more than happy to let the young mistress have the money and resources that came with the manor.

Her work with protecting regular humans from the creatures that roamed this world was much more important.

 

Upstairs, Cerissa was more concerned with persistent throbbing of her medallion than the nattering of servant that insisted on catching her up on current events. At this point it had become almost unbearable, starting once she was a few hours from town and only getting worse as she had gotten closer to the manor. There was no presence or heartbeat that she could sense that seemed out of place but she swore the moment she got more than few winks away from her doting servants, she would make a round of the grounds to check for anything suspicious.

Holding the humming shape in her hand above the water of her bath, it vaguely resembled that of a bird of prey. Yellow eyes similar to her own glowed in the candlelight and for a moment it felt heavier than usual.

Cerissa dismissed it as paranoia but as soon as her bath was completed, threw on a set of her lighter leathers and slipped out the back door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I find this paragraph oddly ironic knowing the ending of the story and posting it new here for any who want to read it makes it all the more amusing.


	3. On Blood and Stone

Her fingers had long grown stiff from the wet wind that howled its way through town. Night had fallen and most windows were now aglow, the only few on the streets being mostly town guard and witch hunters from the nearby chapel. She carefully dodged them, instead had her senses trained on a smell that was all new to her. Not beast, it couldn't be, but definitely not part the usual happenings of the town. It almost smelled like her study but the smell was hard to follow, weak under all the refuse and rotting garbage in the streets.

And that wasn't what was making her medallion pulse like a second heartbeat.

The ground seemed uneven under her feet, the bricks twisting with each footstep. The sensation was maddening and she shook her head several times to try and clear the fog that was settling in her mind. Cerissa had been in such a rush to get home she hadn't noticed the odd way the stray animals had gathered in the main square or that the birds circled. Her skin felt like it was crawling, ready to leap off of her at the first chance it could get. It was unnerving and she found herself tracing the design for quen in the air and wrapping herself in an extra layer of protection before venturing into the square.

A few older women huddled under the porch of the tavern, muttering about a man who had come to take a contract the mayor had posted in her absence. One laughed when Cerissa passed and she could easily make out the comment of annoyance no doubt directed at her.

“She thinks herself our protector but she's not here when we need her?”

The other woman nodded, agreeing. “Then why do we risk our necks to protect her if she's never here? What good is having a missing mutant when there's monsters?”

Cerissa squinted against the rain, scanning the notice board in hopes the newcomer hadn't taken the notice but resigned herself to the empty nail that was still embedded in the wood. Clearing her throat, she turned to the older women, who quickly busied themselves with looking as though they were sweeping the porch when she approached.

“Excuse my intrusion,” she started in a low voice, letting her hood fall from her face.

“Sod off, freak. You've been replaced, haven't you heard?”

“The mayor has a new favorite,” agreed the first.

“To his office then,” she turned with something of a bow to the women and hurried down the main street toward the clock tower.

The appearance of whom the women believed to be a new witcher was of little concern to her, it was simply what the contract entailed and if it had anything to do with the way the buildings seemed to pull in close to her while she ran by. It was dizzying and the closer she got the the main square, the worse the splitting headache grew. The air was getting thick and she scrambled to instead cast yrden. Focusing the sigil on her gloves she earned a few moments of clarity long enough to catch her breath. Ducking out of the rain under the awning of the mayor's offices, she hurried inside and couldn't help the tightness in her chest when her sign wore off.

“So our protector returns,” came the even voice of the man the town called mayor.

Plumper than most, his face had long turned a permanent shade of crimson so brilliant he perpetually looked as though he had spent too much time in the sunlight. Thick hands adorned with numerous sparkling rings folded over his bulbous abdomen, he glared at her from behind gold framed spectacles that nearly hung from his nose that she admitted to herself looked like a gourd several weeks after All Hallows.

“The contract,” she surprised herself with the desperation in her voice.

“You're too late,” he huffed, disinterested, and tossed a stack of papers aside. “You should be more vigilant, lest the witch hunt-”

“Has anyone been complaining of nosebleeds or headaches at all? Mysterious illnesses that seem to linger? Feeling like cobwebs have settled in their chests?”

“I told you that you were too late!”

“And I told you that until you, our mayor, dies that I would protect this city from any evil I could in exchange for safe harbor and the return of my family manor!” Her voice boomed in the small room, making the man press back against his chair and snap to attention. “This isn't about a pouch of gold! There's no shortage of work for witchers should you feel yourself above my aid!” She drew in a deep breath, calming herself, “Surely you can feel the darkness in the air.”

“A word once given,” the mayor grumbled. “I hired a ruffian from out of town to investigate the strange proceedings down by the port after dark. People and animals alike have gone missing. No sign of blood or where they could have gone. No noise complaints from the folk who live there.”

“The worst feeling in the main square is by the well, though,” she gently added.

“You asked about the contract, and that's what I'm telling you. Maybe if you're lucky you'll find the other mutant and you can do whatever it is you do.”

“Sir, tell me about this other wit-”

“No, now go.”

 

 

Again came that odd smell as soon as she stepped out of the mayor's office. She cursed herself for not putting it together sooner and for only bringing her bare minimum armor and bare silver blade. She had the runes removed for cleaning earlier in the evening and hadn't thought to have them set again before leaving. One hand went to its hilt on her back, the other on her still thudding medallion.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out any distractions, and instead memorized the smell of blood that flooded her nostrils. Covered with a perfume she would call floral, it was a fresh trail. Sighing and opening her eyes again, it didn't take long for her to determine it had come from the main square just a few paces up the street just as she had said to the mayor. She retraced her steps, digging through her solitary bag to see what she had available to her, and came to a stop once the street opened in the square.

Several guards stood watch over a lumpy white sheet with a hand stretched out from under it. The people gathered nearby looked up at her with eyes wide in horror but Cerissa merely took a deep breath before coming to stop next to one of the guards.

“May I take a look at the body?” She asked simply, not sure if this would be covered under meddling with the already accepted contract.

Thankfully it was the captain that she was cordial with who shook his head, “Blazes, lass, you disappear and the city goes to hell. First the two murders last week and now this one? Might need to keep you on house arrest.”

“There's been two previous murders?”

“Aye, mayor put a notice up 'bout it I reckon a week after you left to catch yourself that wraith.”

 _So it's been a little over a month._ She nodded, crouching to the level of the body and lifted the sheet enough to peak under it. Flesh blood stained the upper torso and neck, the rest of the chest was covered in deep slash wounds that looked like they were inflicted by claws. Her eyes narrowed, looking for the source of the bleeding on the neck. Tossing the upper corner of the sheet aside, a raw red semi-circle was torn into the neck of the victim. It was a young man whom she recognized as a banker's son. He was to take over the bank once his father retired. He was the one who helped her open an account for a lock box to keep her parent's valuables hidden away.

“Do you know if they all happened to look similar to this when found?”

“Aye, but then there's the disappearances at the wharf too.”

“Probably something else entirely,” she shook her head, leaning forward enough to pull the sheet back over the young man to afford him some decency.

“'Ey, witcher!”

And then there was the gruff voice of his father, a dwarf with a beard any respecting dwarf would be proud of. Despite his trade, he dressed more modestly and was often found with a vest over a shirt with a ruffled collar, saying that the traditional waistcoat only got in the way while working the vaults below the main building. Tears had turned his eyes bloodshot and he stood with his arms stubbornly crossed against his chest.

“I trust you'll be the one to find the beast who did this to my boy?” He couldn't get through the demand without his voice breaking several times.

“No parent should have to bury their child,” she shook her head.

“Whatever this blasted city is promising you, I'll pay you double as a thank you from my family. Just bring him peace, alright lassie?”

“Well, right now no one has offered me anything for the murders. I've only heard of the trouble at the wharf that's under a different contract.”

“One of my brothers was one of the other victims,” the captain spoke up after clearing his throat, “Find the beast who did this, and I'll find you some kind of reward, Miss Cerissa. Just please let our sons find some peace.”

“Fine. I'll do what I can” she nodded, eager to get started before she lost the scent that still lingered in her nose.

The trail led her through the lower parts of the city, asking anyone she could catch out after dark if they had seen anything out of the usual or felt as though someone had been watching them. The only helpful lead she got was from an older woman who spoke of a woman who looked about Cerissa's age, dressed in dark clothing that always had a hood over her face and was only seen after dark.

Cerissa groaned, a bruxa probably.

Not only did she have little experience in fighting vampires, but she was sorely unprepared for a fight with a creature that fast. Her leathers would provide little resistance against razor sharp claws and she would have greatly preferred to have her metal chest plate she usually reserved for trips to Redania. No oils. No potions. Only her favored silver sword and her signs.

The odds were severely stacked against her.

Glancing up, the clouds covered the sky in a thick blanket so she couldn't accurately judge the time. Dawn would be a little while back, surely she would be able to get back to the manor and gather some supplies before tracking down the vampire that settled in her city.

She chose the back streets, hurrying as fast as her legs would carry her. Only fifty feet from the gates of her home, she stopped dead in her tracks. In front of the gates stood a figure in a hooded black cloak, standing perfectly still and staring at the house as though transfixed with the lights coming from the windows.

“You hunt me, even though you know we live among you and have lived longer than you mortals ever will.”

 _Shit._ Cerissa hurried to cast yrden, throwing the symbol to her feet, then quickly cloaking herself with quen.

“You stand ready to face a fight you know you cannot win alone.”

The figure turned to face her, dropping its cloak and in a puff of smoke, simultaneously shed the form of a fair maiden and ran at her. “Shit!” Cerissa rolled to one side and undid the clasp of her cloak, letting the extra weight fall aside. In one fluid motion she managed to get to her feet and pull her sword from its scabbard, trying her best to ignore the near constant vibration of her medallion warning her against the danger she now faced.

Quicker than she could follow, the creature was gone in a flash and she felt the blinding pain of its nails being drug through her back. She spun as soon as the feeling started, managing to clip several of the creatures claws before it jumped back. Her signs had done little to slow the creature or protect her, but still forced herself to cast quen again and stood in a defensive position. Again and again the creature ran at her and all she could do to stay alive was block and parry.

Cerissa was starting to tire after several long minutes that felt like hours before the creature grew confident it had the upper hand, and left its side open with a wide blow. Seizing the opportunity, Cerissa ducked down and pressed the advantage with a low upwards arc to the creature ribs that earned a gush of dark blood when her blade ripped into the vampire's skin. It screamed in response, making her stumble, and quickly retook the upper hand. Knocking her over and kicking her blade away from her reaching fingers, again and again it clawed at her arms that she brought up to protect herself while screeching.

Cerissa's vision was starting to haze around the edges, the world blurring slightly. The pain was unbearable, feeling like someone had lit a fire under his skin. Her ears were ringing from the creature's screaming. Feebly, she again tried to shield herself with quen only to be greeted with the sound of shattering glass as the vampire tore through the magic as though it wasn't even there.

Blood dripped into her eyes from her now shredded arms, torn into ribbons by the creature's claws. Cerissa tried to kick it away several times, only shrieking when once it bit into her neck in attempt to stay on top of her.

Another heartbeat. The smell from before that reminded her of her study, leather and oil. An intense feeling of magic that sent her medallion buzzing anew.

“Close your eyes!” Came a voice that almost resembled two knives being dragged over each other* and then the loud bang of a grenade igniting midair. Cerissa managed to wrench her eyes shut just in time to avoid the blinding light of a flash bomb.

In the next moments the weight was gone as the creature screamed again and there was a tearing sound as metal met flesh. Cerissa gratefully rolled to one side, fingers fumbling to find purchase on the grip of her sword but was only vaguely aware of the splattering sound of blood before losing nearly all awareness of her surroundings.

She felt herself be picked up, something pressed tight against her neck, and she pushed against the arms that held her feebly, only earning a tighter grip and a muttered remark about her injuries. Her eyes opened enough to make out the wolf head medallion around her rescuer's neck before she slipped into the darkness that waited for her.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Most of the time when describing the sound of Eskel's voice, I default to the books that describe it as being almost metallic.


	4. A Trial of A Different Kind

_The feeling of melting from the inside while the outside remained the same was a sensation she thought she would never feel again. But in the darkness the most raw fear gripped her and she screamed so loudly she was beginning to hurt her own ears. Trying to claw at her chest in an effort to relieve the pressure growing behind her ribs, shackles instead held her arms to the metal table._

_Tears streamed down her face. There was no way to tell how long this agony dragged on. One moment her heart was racing and then- nothing. There was nothing. She tried to scream but found she had no voice. Her once deafening heartbeat had slowed to near nothing. The screams were eased into slow, measured breaths and as she finally opened her eyes she could feel them beginning to focus in the darkness._

_The shackles at her wrists and ankles were undone and someone helped her to her feet. The world blurred. Every heartbeat in the room were louder than her own and the soft smell of mold that had merely been a bother before made her stomach turn._

_“Welcome to the path, my sister,” a hand clamped down her shoulder, an older man's face spread into a wide smile. “You were the only one of your group to pass the trial.”_

 

 

“Hold pressure here,” a young elf instructed Antony, pressing the majordomo's hands down against the wad of cloth held just above Cerissa's shoulder. Narrowing his eyes as their visitor left the room with little more than a handful of words, there was a certain air about how the man carried himself that picked at the young elf. He fought the shiver that ran up his spine at the sight of the man's eyes, letting himself think back on the night when Cerissa had appeared seemingly out of nowhere to defend him from the city guard. It was a rushed, hurried memory that felt more like he was looking back on a childhood memory. He remembered the cool, purple glow of her blade as she stood before him- sword raised to fight and though he hadn't seen the look on her face, he to this day savored the the unease that quickly spread over the armored men.

She had smiled at him as she sheathed her sword and turned to him when the men decided one elf was not worth taking on this woman, green-yellow eyes glowing even in the faint light. He still remembered the faint gasp that escaped him when the realization hit him that he was looking at something out of one his grandmother's tales.

_Two swords and eyes like a cat with an animal head medallion, Amriel, marks a witcher._

Sighing, he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and instead focused on her now. “Warm water and some towels, please,” he instructed one of the maids, his fingers already beginning to glow, and gently brushed them over the deep gashes lining her arms.

The elf watched as the skin slowly stitched itself back together, and nodded to himself, turning his attention to the wound at her neck just as the maid returned with a basin of steaming water. Gingerly, Antony let the blood soaked cloth fall away, watching with wide eyes and shaking hands as the elf gently wiped at the wound with one of the towels.

“She'll be fine, Antony,” He didn't look up at the older man, putting the towel aside and pressing his bare, still glowing fingers to the wound. “Probably will have some new scars, but she'll definitely live.” He paused, “You should go thank the man that saved her.”

 

 

Antony did as Amriel suggested, deciding that Cerissa was safe in the hands of her favorite mage and instead turned his attention to the man who had brought her back to the manor bloodied and unconscious. Stepping aside without a word once he laid her down, the other witcher had taken to waiting downstairs in the foyer while they worked on her. He would have as easily left but Antony had been the one to insist that he at least receive a thank you for saving her.

“If you work like my mistress, I know you witchers don't work for free,” he had grumbled as he rolled up his sleeves to keep her blood from soaking the fabric, helping the elf in any way he could. “And she'll want to at least say thank you herself.”

As Antony rounded the corner and paused at the top of the stairs, he found himself watching a scene all too common in the manor. Instead of Cerissa knelt before the lit fireplace in her trance-like meditation though, it was her savior. Two swords across his back, he dressed in mostly brown and red leather armor that was studded with spikes across the upper arms of his jacket. Dark hair lay mostly untidy from a combination of the previous fight and the rain. Even from where he stood, Antony could see the deep scar that marred the right side of his face. The man had said very little except to say he had stopped a bruxa from killing Cerissa, which he explained later was a lower level vampire. He had given no name with which to address him or what business he was in town on. He turned slightly, cat-like eyes now open to glance over his shoulder at Antony.

“Am I in the way?” He prompted not unkindly, already unfolding one leg from under him to stand.

“No, no,” Antony insisted, “Just interesting to see what carries from witcher to witcher. She often does the same thing. She loves those...signs?” He mimicked a butchered version of igni, “Does she call them? And would spend hours doing just that in front of a fire she lit with only a few wiggles of her fingers.”

He nodded, settling back down, and turned his attention back to the flames but didn't close his eyes again. “Calms the senses before and after a hunt.” The room lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few moments before he spoke again. “Her necklace- she's Griffin School? Didn't think there were any of them left.”

“She'd be better to tell you about all that, but yes. That's what she tells me.” Antony cleared his throat after several moments, “If you wanted to check on her, I believe Amriel is done with cleaning her injuries. He says she was lucky she got help as quickly as she did.”

“I could hear the screaming across town,” he provided with a shrug, slowly getting to his feet. “Same room I took her to?”

“Ah yes, west wing.”

He nodded, “Thank you. And she's lucky to have someone like you to look after her.”

He meant it, of course, he added to himself as he made his way back to her bed chambers. He could tell from his short conversations with the majordomo that the elder man cared deeply for the young witcher and while he wasn't sure why, the limited number of staff in the home all seemed to be the same way. It may have been a comforting thought to some that she at least had a roof over her head and a warm meal most nights, he couldn't help but wonder why she stayed here. Perhaps it was simply for the security that having one location she knew offered, and even then- a centuries old manor house had little in the form of fortification if it was to be attacked. And from the way he found her and the bruxa, he was sure the woman had walked into something she shouldn't have.

There was something in this city beyond the drowners he had found in the wharf and the vampire they had fought, though the presence had calmed down since the bruxa was killed. Perhaps her being here in the first place at regular intervals was the very thing that attracted monsters to the city. After all, there were frequently trolls in the old trial tunnels beneath Kaer Morhen and wraiths that haunted the long abandoned training grounds. It led him to wonder what kind of history this place had that drew a vampire to it.

Or what contracts she had taken to gain one's attention.

He knocked lightly on the door and one of the servants hurriedly covered her with a sheet before he opened the door. She seemed as though she was awake, more or less, but laying with her eyes closed. Her breathing was still ragged, though, so she may be dreaming. The servants present scurried out of the room giggling with blush staining their faces as he pulled up a chair, folding his hands together and sitting forward to rest his arms on his knees.

“If you can hear me, I just want you to know you're at your house. You're safe and you can wake up now.”

She stirred slightly in response with a groan, opening her eyes with a grimace. “Thank you,” she managed in a raspy voice, throat still hoarse from her screaming. “Name's Cerissa.” She coughed, clearly her throat. “Which I'm sure Antony told you already.”

“Eskel,” he provided, “Wolf School from further up north.”

“Why so far from home? In just a few months time it'll be time to shack up and start thinking about wintering.”

“I'd...” he stopped, choosing his words carefully. “I'd rather not talk about it. The ruins just don't feel like home right now.”

There was a heavy silence the fell between the pair before Cerissa tried to sit up, wedging herself up on an elbow with a hiss. Eskel winced in something like sympathy, watching her fight through it to sit into a crumpled but technically upright position. She groaned, peeking under the sheets at the bandages that were wrapped around her chest, before leaning back against the headboard so she didn't have to try so hard to stay upright.

“Speaking of that,” he fished a pouch out of a pocket and tossed it on the bed between her outstretched legs. “Anyone asks, I took the trophy as proof for you.”

She looked at pouch quizzically for a moment, wincing when even the movement of her fingers undoing the pouch ties hurt all the way up her arms. “Wait...You killed it. It's your pay,” she held the pouch back out to him.

He shook his head. “This is your home. These people know you as their witcher and for the most part trust you. I explained that you killed it but had to be rushed home to treat injuries.”

“So you lied for me to save face.”

“I lied so they wouldn't know how much of a rookie you really are. Leaving home to investigate strong magic without something heavier than thin leather armor and no sort of oils or potions to help? Especially when you had no idea what was waiting for you out there.” He shook his head, sitting back in his chair enough to cross one leg over the other. “Big mistake that could have cost you more than a day or two in bed. Keep the coin.”

She groaned, counting the bizants in it and leaving one hundred out. “Fine then. Accept these as payment from me for saving my life.”

He couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, her stubbornness taking him by surprise. “Persistent, aren't you? That much I'll accept.”

 

 

In the few days that followed, Cerissa gradually got back to her feet and while she was not allowed to leave the manor grounds without supervision, she was still often found in the garden tending to her herbs. While most of the staff, female of not, was nervous around her new guest there was a sort of ease Cerissa found in conversation with him. There were things she could say to Antony but he would not understand, sensations that could only be relatable if someone had lived through them. The thing that continued to burn at her was that Eskel was right. She was a novice but carried herself with the confidence that she was anything else. She made mistakes too readily and acted faster than she thought. Looking back at the scars that littered her body, most of them were earned when she had tried to rush in without a plan.

Like she had several nights ago. Cerissa had just wanted to follow the pulling without much thought of what was waiting for her if she went looking. She had grown used to simple wraiths and necrophages. She had grown lazy.

The feeling of mortification was fleeting thankfully but she did groan when she looked up to find her escort still waiting at the top of the steps. “I can weed the garden without a shadow, thank you.”

“If you're anything like the woman you remind me of, you'd be gone the instant someone wasn't looking at you.”

The thought kept eating at her into that night, making dinner a somber occasion when she locked herself in her study shortly after. “She does this occasionally,” Antony provided, mistaking Eskel's blank expression for being stunned. “She'll be in there for a few hours at most before coming out to get more refreshments or a new ream of parchment.”

He shook his head, “She's frustrated because she knows I'm right.”

Of course she could hear that. Of course he knew she could hear him. If she was so frustrating or dangerous to herself, it baffled her why he even stayed as long as he had. Surely there was something he had to do that was more important than babysitting a fledgling. She could hear Antony's footsteps retreat, and the soft thud of something leaning against the heavy wooden doors.

“I stayed because there's only so many of us left,” he spoke quietly, at a volume he knew only her would be able to hear. “Sounds like you're the last. There's a handful of Cat that tend to be avoided and three of wolf school left, well four if you count Ciri. On top of that, Wolf and I are getting old*. And Viper school, well.”

“Bear and Manticore?” She plopped herself at her desk in a mock attempt to do some kind of work on her latest project.

“No way to tell.”

“So what, you're making sure I don't kill myself and keeping me out of trouble?”

She could hear the edge of annoyance in his sigh, “No, I'm offering to make it so you don't get backed into a corner again.”

“And in exchange?”

“We'll talk about it when that time comes.”

There was the sound of metal fastenings grinding against each other and one of the doors swung inwards. A soft smile played at his lips at the unspoken invitation, joining her and shutting the door behind him. The walls of her study were lined with dusty books, some tattered almost to the point that were likely to crumble to dust if disturbed. Bits of alchemy ingredients dotted any surface they could, and true to Antony's words a fire blazed in the hearth next to her desk. A large pot was balanced over the flames and the fumes easily filled the room.

“Forgive my asking, but how old are you?” She turned from the fire and pushed up the goggles she wore, quirking an eyebrow.

“More than what you're probably thinking.”

“Sixty?”

“Higher.”

“Eighty?”

“Give or take, about.” He nodded, leaning against one of the few patches of bare wall he could find. Most of them were adorned with stuffed recreations of her trophies, weapon racks, or bookshelves.

“There's a stool around here somewhere,” she muttered, reaching her hand under her desk and producing a small wooden stool. “If you want.” She could feel his gaze burning holes in the back of her neck when she turned back to her project and she sighed, “I'm 28. I went through the Trials at 16.”

He let out a low whistle. “You really _haven't_ been on the Path long, have you?”

“I've only been on my own for five years. Most of which I've spent here, yes.”

“We need to get you out more, expose you to more. Maybe travel. Ever fought a wyvern?” She shook her head, “Fiend?” again she shook her head, “Do you even know what a botchling is?”

“Yes," she huffed somewhat defensively, "And I know how to turn them if needed, too.”

“Have you?”

“Never gotten the chance, no.”

“You know you're not going to here, right?” He shook his head, coming instead to crouch beside her chair. “You're not a normal human, Cerissa. You can't keeping living like you are. I'm sure you know that.”

“Why do you even care?”

“Because I've been on your end of this conversation.” He paused, letting her wordlessly stir her brew before quickly extinguishing the flames with igni. She held out her hand to prompt him to hand her the lid and he did so, holding on to the edge so she had to look at him. “Let me help you.”

She set her jaw and tugged at the lid. He let her have it, almost grateful for the sudden decrease in the smell hanging in the air. “And that sits on the coals for a few hours covered,” she muttered, obviously knowing the recipe well, then shifted back over to her desk. It was several long moments before she spoke again. “There's a guest room in the east wing you're welcome to use while you're here.” She sighed, finally turning to face him. “And thank you.”

“We'll see if you regret that later.” He stood, resettling his clothes before turning toward the door. “We start at dawn so make sure to get some sleep.” Pausing at the door, he looked back at her, already lost in her calculations again. “You've got a lot to learn.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Don't lie, Eskel. You and Geralt are still relatively young for witchers. : P


	5. On Stars And Stones

_My Dearest Antony,_ a hastily written note on parchment began.

_I regret that I did not wish you farewell like I should, but perhaps it's best that you are not awake by the time we ride. Please don't be mad at either of us, and I hope one day you will come to forgive at least myself. I leave the manor and business in our capable hands as always and if I am not seen again, let it be known that I appreciated everything you have ever done for me._

_But I am a witcher by trade, and now's my chance to see the wide world I've dreamt of when I accepted my new body._

_Farewell, and may the gods keep you,_

_Cerissa_

Antony smiled despite the worry of the servants who had also read the letter. Cerissa was capable in and of herself, but certainly she would be safer with her chosen companion. For the month Eskel had lingered at the manor and was seen not far behind Cerissa in whatever she did, Antony had a feeling from the first time he saw the two together that his mistress would soon leave. While he never pictured her leaving in the dead of night, he certainly didn't think it would be so suddenly.

“She'll be just fine,” he sighed, assuring the head housekeeper, Marian, who nervously clutched at her apron. “She's not the child we think of her as. She's an adult woman, and a powerful warrior made to defend people like us from monsters. Let her grow up and taste the world. She's been here far too long, anyway.”

He would never know Cerissa had laughed with nervous glee as the wind ripped her cloak from her face when they rode out of the city's gate, Moose at a full canter and the moon at her back.

 

~Six Months Later~

  
Cerissa doubted if she would ever truly get over the marvel she felt each time she stared at up at the night sky, stretched out on her bed roll with the dying coals of a fire nearby. Moose and Scorpion loose from their saddles, the horses grazed nearby. Eskel had fallen asleep on his own roll not too far away from her, snoring softly and curled slightly on his side. She was sure the moment she made one sudden move he would snap awake again, but for now she was content to lay still and enjoy the few hours before dawn when everything seemed still.

The first month away from Enna had been the worst, and only seemed to drag on more when he insisted they leave the country altogether in order to expose her to as much as possible. In the first six months alone she had come toe to toe with more werewolves than she could count and burned more mass graves than she ever cared to. The war left no shortage of work and while some nights she spent awake paranoid that something would try to eat her, her pockets certainly weren't empty.

Her arms were now lined with angry red scars from her fight with the bruxa back home, several deep cuts from a wyvern adorning her back. Cerissa took her new scars in stride, most worried about the deep one that ran parallel to her collarbone, right where the stitching for her chest piece and spaulder met. The bleeding from that wound had seemed to take a disastrously long time to stop. Her hands had long lost the softness they once had, calluses now lining her knuckles.

She wrote Antony when she could, telling him of her latest contracts or the results of her trying to improve a potion recipe- with often mixed results. While honoring her inclination towards alchemy and signs, she had been hit one too many times with the pommel of Eskel's sword during sparring matches simply because she wasn't fast enough. Several of the bruises that lined her torso currently were from him not pulling punches during sparring matches.

She had quickly learned how to guard her blind spots when she once earned herself a broken rib.

Cerissa smiled, despite it, watching the horses with the same wide wonder she was once felt when originally reading every bestiary book she could get her hands on. Whatever she had called herself before, she wasn't a witcher. Maybe in name, but name alone. While she sometimes yearned for her soft bed and a warm dinner that wasn't just overly simmered meat and vegetables that traveled well, she felt more alive.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “And I don't regret it yet.”

“Yet,” he snorted out a quiet laugh.

“It's been eight months, I still don't regret it.”

“And you've changed so much during those months,” his voice slurred slightly, showing his fatigue.

“Go back to sleep, Eskel,” she sat up with a barely smothered yawn of her own. “I've got watch for now.”

“You always do.” He smiled, and that small quirk of his lips was beginning to be one of her favorite things about him. “And Cerissa? I mean it.”

She tried to ignore the soft thudding in her chest for the rest of the night.

 

***

From her perch on a wooden fence, Cerissa watched the children of the village play a game one of them had just invented with reckless abandon. The point was to gather the most crickets, but it had dissolved into just sabotaging the other children. She chuckled to herself when one of the little girls pouted as one of the boys stepped on one of them, seemingly ruining her chances of winning although the grass below Cerissa's feet buzzed with the bugs.

Moose, who had been grazing nearby, nudged her from behind so suddenly that she almost pitched forward. “Moose!” Cerissa protested, hands on her hips when she turned to face her equine partner. “I know, I know, I've been slacking on the snacks recently. But Eskel doesn't spoil Scorpion like I do you, and you're putting on a little weight recently.” She sighed, rubbing his nose when he snorted out a protest. “Maybe I'll sneak an apple before he gets back...”

“Excuse me, miss?” A woman approached her, wringing her hands. “Would you happen to be one of those witchers?”

The woman was dressed in modest clothing with the skirt torn at the hem. She looked middle aged and Cerissa guessed the child clinging to her skirts was hers. The little boy peaked out from behind the woman, then his eyes went wide.

“Miss! Have you actually killed monsters with that sword?!” He ran forward to get a better look at Cerissa's silver blade on her hip. “Is it heavy? Can I see it? How sharp is it?”

“Trysten!” The woman snapped, and Cerissa laughed.

“He's fine, there's always one child that asks every town I'm in,” she assured the woman, leaning back against the fence. “But I am, yes, ma'am.”

“May I...My youngest went missing two days past, hardly more than an infant she is. Barely able to walk on her own. Was out playin' with her brother 'ere and when I went to check on them, they were both gone. Found Trysten nearby in the woods saying something about wolves.” She looked down at the boy, sighing sadly, “Their father died last winter of the pox and they's all I have left.”

“If it's wolves, I'm sorry but your little girl may not be alive anymore.” Cerissa shook her head.

“I know,” the woman admitted, hanging her head while tears came to her eyes. She barely held back a hiccup of a sob. “But they say yous witchers are the best trackers around. I'd at least like to bury whatever's left of her.” Her thin shoulders shook, “I don't have much, and I know your kind don't work for free but I hoped maybe-”

“How much are you able to pay?” Cerissa resigned herself to whatever she could get, not wanting to leave a mother grieving without at least something to bury.

“20 crowns at the most,” the woman managed between sobs, “I know it's not much, but-”

“I'll do it. Just know what I might return with won't be a living little girl.”

 

 

The trail was fresh enough that Cerissa had no trouble following the coppery scent of blood just beyond the line of trees that surrounded the small village. Managing not to anger the wolves that no doubt slumbered nearby, she followed the smell to an alcove nestled at the base of a tree. She scowled, glancing over her shoulder quickly, then knelt to the level of what looked like a burrow.

“Who's there, who's there?” A voice that sounded more like a child's angrily demanded. In the short moments that followed, a humanoid creature with ashen skin emerged. Wearing a dress that looked it was made from animal's skins, a crown of thorned vines was balanced top a messy bun of stringy hair.

“A godling,” Cerissa blinked, not being to help staring.

“Aye, and if I am?” She huffed, putting her hands on her hips. “You sent to kill me?” She pointed to the griffin head necklace Cerissa wore, stomping her feet. “Your kind's no fun, no fun!”

Cerissa shook her head. “I'm actually here about a little girl. Her mother says she was taken by wolves. Would you know anything about that?”

“I may,” the godling sang, rocking on her heels. “But what do you have for me in exchange?”

“Well, what would you like?”

The godling thought for a minute, pursing her lips like a child. “I'd like a new crown!” She gushed, “And yous a griffin, right? I want a new crown of feathers! The prettiest ones you can find!”

“Feathers, alright.”

Cerissa hastily made her way back to town to check her pack, hoping she was still on her own for the time being. If she remembered right, she had saved some of the feathers from a griffin they had taken a contract on a month or two back, intending to use them for some kind of concoction. Moose greeted her with eager nips while she dug through his saddle bags, sorting through all of her gathered ingredients before finding what she was looking for. Finding some string and wire as well, she gave Moose a quick scratch on his nose and hurried back to the woods.

“What about these?” Cerissa presented the griffin feathers to the godling, sitting down next to its burrow with her legs crossed, “These are from a griffin, and if you hold them up to the sunlight, they have a golden twinkle to them.”

She pursed her lips as she did so, tilting the feathers in the sunlight to make sure Cerissa wasn't trying to lie to her. The dark blue feathers were tipped with red, and just as Cerissa promised, they had a golden sheen when the godling managed to catch some of the sun's rays on them. “Perfect! But these aren't a lot! It'll be so small!”

“How about some leaves or vines woven with them? It'll make it look thicker.”

“I like that idea! Let me go find some!”

Cerissa waited while the creature wondered about the immediate area, picking leaves from various plants and inspecting each one thoroughly before returning to her with several handfuls of leaves of various sizes and colors. “Use these!”

“Give me a few minutes,” Cerissa nodded, laying the leaves and feathers in front of her.

She carefully tied string to the base of each of the feathers, cutting the string from the rest of the bobbin with her hunting knife once they were all strung. She listened carefully to each snap of twigs and snarl the entire time she shaped the wire into a crown and began arranging the chosen decorations. The godling sat across from her, humming as she watched Cerissa and golden eyes wide with wonder.

“You're good at this!”

“I used to make flower chains as a child,” Cerissa smiled when she tucked the last strung feather into place. Inspecting her work, she tucked several leaves around the wire to hide the string. When she was satisfied, she handed it to the golding for approval.

“I like it, I like it!” She grinned, eagerly shaking off her current crown and replacing it with the newer one. “Like I promised, yeah, I saw the babe. Little thing she is.”

“Where did you last see her?” Cerissa carefully got to her feet, minding the burrow.

“Base of a tree nearby.”

“Can you show me?”

The creature thought about it for a moment, but finally nodded. She hastily got to her feet and waited to make sure Cerissa was going to follow before bolting off into the woods. As they got closer, she could make out the faint cries of a baby. It wouldn't explain the blood, though, that lead her to the golding's hiding place and that was the only fact that bothered her. Her new found acquaintance came to a stop by a tree not too far ahead of Cerissa, eagerly pointing and bouncing in her toes. Coming around the massive trunk, she could see the roots formed a little hollow that sheltered the babe. Her clothes were torn, the blanket she was wrapped in spotted with blood.

“Loud, she is!” The godling provided when Cerissa knelt to scoop up the child, patting her back in an effort to get her to stop crying.

“How did she get out this far from the edge of the woods?”

“I was playing with her and her brother, of course! He took her out here and when the wolves came, he ran!” She laughed, rocking on her feet again. “I've been watching her, but he didn't ever come back.”

“Her mother thinks she's dead,” she stood, laying the child against her shoulder and holding her there with one arm. “Thank you for your help,” she bowed her head to the godling who just giggled with glee.

“And thanks for my new crown!”

 

 

Cerissa paused at the edge of the woods, and chuckled to herself. Of course making the crown had taken longer than she thought, and Eskel was back from whatever business had left her alone that morning. Worry was obvious on his face, even from where she stood, and the same woman who she had accepted the contract from was explaining the same things to him that she had told Cerissa. The woman happened to glance up to look over his shoulder and caught sight of Cerissa, hands going to her mouth then running to meet her.

Cerissa tried to ignore the careful watch of her tutor and found herself smiling when she handed the now sleeping child back to its mother. “Thank you! Bless you! And she still lives!”

“A godling had been playing with your children in the woods, and when they were attacked by wolves, your son panicked and left her in the hollow of a tree. The godling has been looking after her while she waited for your son to return.”

“A...godling?” The woman pressed the child to her chest, bouncing it slightly.

“Ancient creature that resembles a child. Not inherently dangerous and often thought of as guardian spirits in some places.”

“Thank you, thank you!” The mother accepted the explanation, continuing to gush praise. “Here, what we agreed on. Bless you, miss!” She gathered up her son after giving Cerissa the handful of coins and hurried towards home.

Cerissa could feel the lecture coming, knowing full well she had been told to stay put and wait patiently but shrugged when she joined her companion. He scowled at her, but didn't say a word while she tidied up the contents of Moose's saddlebags from her rummaging earlier. After several long moments, she looked up at him and merely quirked an eyebrow at him before returning to her task.

“I can see you certainly weren't bored.”

“We've been riding for almost three days straight,” she didn't mean the edge to her voice but let it stay. “And as amusing as watching children's games is-”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I'm not angry, not even disappointed.”

“Then why do you look as though you've sucked on a lemon?” She sighed, closing the saddlebag and finally meeting his eye.

“Am I not allowed to worry when you suddenly vanish without a word?” He very nearly snapped.

Cerissa clenched her jaw to keep from snapping back, instead returning her attention to Moose- this time making sure the straps on his saddle weren't fraying or the buckles weren't in need of repair. He sighed after several long moments, taking a few deep breaths before speaking.

“If you are interested, it's another two day ride but I wanted to show you something you asked about.”

“And this something required leaving in the wee hours of the morning and telling me not to go anywhere as if I were a child?”

He closed his eyes for a moment longer than a blink and forced another deep breath. “Cerissa. Please.” She sniffed, but didn't look up at him. “I went to make sure we had enough rations to get through the mountains,” he finally admitted. “Not sure how clear the road will be right now with winter still in recent memory, though.”

She scowled, “Why would we need to go through the mountains?”

“Trust me, that's all I ask.”

 

 

The battered gates that greeted her at the top of the mountain pass was not what she was expecting. To be honest, she had no idea what she should have been expecting but a weathered castle was certainly not on the list of possibilities. The battlements were worn in places and part of the highest tower missing altogether, she couldn't hide the confusion on her face. The outer gate had been bent and broken by a force she couldn't imagine, and it didn't escape her notice that Eskel's face twisted in pain for a moment when they rode through the opening the blast had caused.

She slowed Moose down to a trot to meet his pace, watching every little flicker of emotion as they went through a short passage that lead to another torn gate before emptying into a courtyard that was marked with patches of weeds and wildflowers that grew between the broken stone pathways.

“Cerissa,” He stopped just beyond the gate and dismounted, turning to face her. “Welcome to Kaer Morhen.”

Cerissa shook her head, trying to focus again. “This...”

“Is the home of the wolf school, yes.” He sighed, turning to survey the ruins. “Or at least what's left of it.”

“If this is too painful, we can-”

He shook his head, “No, I needed to see this after what happened. It's been about a year and someone has to make sure the place hasn't been gutted by looters.”

Cerissa carefully dismounted Moose, rubbing his nose absently when he nipped at her to get her attention. “If it's any comfort, at least not many would make it this far up in the mountains.”

“Yeah, there's that. Come on, I'll at least show you around the main fortress.”

 

 

Cerissa found Eskel on the battlements later that evening, most of the castle dark save for the few torches they had lit. He made no indication of knowing she was there though the click of her boots on the stone filled the courtyard below. Leaning against a low wall, he squinted slightly as he looked out over the small valley surrounding the keep. He had been quiet since he left her to explore that afternoon, then seemingly vanished altogether. She spent an embarrassingly long time looking for him, getting lost in several passage ways and having to backtrack only to get lost again. He only asked she didn't wander beyond the front gate alone, mentioning in a previous summer there had been trouble with forktails, and not to probe too deep into the underground- which proved any easy task since many of the passages had been closed off by debris or looked too questionable to dare. She had spent most of the afternoon seated in the main hall surrounded by an armful of books she painstakingly copied passages and took notes from.

“This hurts,” she was stating the obvious, she knew it.

He didn't reply immediately, only nodding.

Just beyond the outer gates, there was little but darkness. It had been awhile since they were this far away from a village and there was a sense of wonder at just how well the moon lit the woods below. A fog so thick she had to wonder if it was actually low clouds clung to the mountains around them, the river cutting through the peaks easily. The almost constant breeze pulled at her hair, tugging it from her hasty bun and she didn't even bother to try to tuck it back into place. There was a slight chill in the air and for the first time since she met him, the silence bothered her.

The state of the gates was enough of story to tell her his earlier aversion to coming back here was probably well founded. She didn't know the full history of the castle, but from the amount of wood it was taking to hold up certain pathways and walls, she guessed it easily had seen several centuries of use.

“The Hunt attacked the keep to take Geralt's once ward, Cirilla, or Ciri as we call her, who is of Elder Blood,” he provided in way of explanation after several long moments. She only nodded, leaning her back against the low wall and waited to see if he wanted to continue. He spoke quietly, choosing each word carefully. “You mentioned once that you wanted to see it. And honestly I think I needed to for closure.”

“Closure?”

“The three,” he debated something then corrected himself, “Four of us that are left were trained by the same older witcher. He was killed in the battle.”

“Eskel, had I known I wouldn't have-”

He shook his head to stop her. “You're from a different school and wanted to see where I trained. You had no way of knowing what happened.”

“I'm sorry,” she allowed after several moments that seemed far too long to be natural.

“It's not your fault it happened.”

“No, for reopening old wounds.”

“You can't open what wasn't fully closed, Cerissa.”

Despite what he had told her, there was an odd sense of peace in this place and Cerissa felt it nowhere better than the main hall. Whether it was the magic seeped into the stone from the years it had spent sheltering a witcher school or her imaginings of the shenanigans the students had gotten themselves into in their younger years, it felt something like home even though this place was foreign to her. Sadly, it felt more like home than returning to where she trained would have and she shivered off the memories of flames that eased into the corners of her mind.

“Thank you for bringing me here.” She paused, “And I'm sorry, for getting impatient with you so often.”

“Part of being young- you want to be constantly doing something,” he waved a hand dismissively. “And I'm sure you wouldn't say it, but I know you frighten easily sometimes.” She opened her mouth to protest but he sighed and pushed off the wall, turning to lean his back against it like she did. “Question is, you've proven you're more than capable of killing almost anything, human or beast, that crosses you so what is it about the stares of strangers that gives you pause?”

“It wasn't that way at home.”

“Because it was familiar. You know that town and the people in it. But as soon as you set yourself on task, that uncertainty vanishes.”

“There's only so many ways to hold a sword or throw a bomb,” she sighed, “Even tracks follow predictable patterns and I've started seeing there will be a pattern to what kind of people seek out my services.”

“This is why I wanted to travel with you and make you see new things,” he clapped a hand down on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “You were never a bad witcher, just inexperienced.”

It was embarrassing how the smallest amount of praise from him sent her heart thudding. Though her expression remained unchanged, she was suddenly so much more aware of the hand on her shoulder or how he had been speaking in hushed tones with her. She flushed the smallest amount, sure he could see it even in shadows the few lights in the courtyard down below cast up here.

There was a sense of finality in his words that she couldn't shake, though, and instead tried to refocus on the feeling of safety this place afforded her.

“So what's the plan after this?”

“In truth, I was going to see you to the border of Kovir and Poviss at the least so you could return home.” He let his hand fall away and there was a slight chill once the residual heat faded.

“I don't think the manor is even home anymore,” Cerissa shook her head, “A familiar place to lay my head and take a break, yes, but it stopped being home after that first month of us traveling.” She frowned, “No, it stopped feeling safe after the bruxa.”

“So if isn't home,” he titled his head in interest, a smirk playing across his lips, “What is?”

“I could be poetic and say its in dark catacombs or a field of wheat at midday, or the peak of a mountain while setting a lure. Or even a tavern or inn listening to the minstrels sing ballads of heroes I'll never meet.”

“So it's not really anywhere specifically.”

“It's a feeling.” She nodded. “It's laying in the grass and watching the stars while the horses graze. It's so many things.” She laughed quietly, “Listen to me, romanticizing the path like some housewife.”

“Not romanticizing. You know the harsh reality of it firsthand, you just take your small pleasures where you can find them.”

“I...” She stopped, looking up at the sky and marveling at the stars like she hoped she always would. “I'm glad you were the one to show it to me.”

“I almost wasn't, if you remember right,” he chuckled.

“And I almost died in the square in front of my house, so I guess I have two things to thank you for.”

“You settled that debt when you shared the payment for the contract on the bruxa,” he waved his hand dismissively. “The other is still open for debate.” He shot a sideways glance at her that made her swat playfully at him. He laughed and ducked out of her reach, taking a half step away.

“Eskel!” She giggled, “I don't think all the coin on the continent could pay that debt off.”

“Well, you know as well as I that witchers don't work for free, Mistress Lamonia.”

“The only thing I have to offer is my undying gratitude, master witcher,” she managed her best imitation of snobbish noblewoman, straightening herself before dipping into a dramatically low bow.

“I don't know about that, ma'am. Surely there is something else you could offer.”

She fanned herself with her hand, “To speak of such things in the presence of a lady!”

They just looked at each other for a moment before dissolving into another round of laughter. After managing to collect herself enough to speak, she sighed.

“I'm going to miss you.”

“It won't be a permanent goodbye, you know that, right?”

“I know. The manor will just feel empty without my shadow watching my every move.”

“I had no idea Antony passed,” Eskel tried to smother another laugh, “I'll send some flowers.”

Cerissa rolled her eyes, “Smartass.”

“Never claimed I wasn't.”

She scowled, then stretched up on her tiptoes with a small yawn. The sun was already starting to peak up over the horizon, the farthest reaches of the sky now a pale blue that edged on green. “Guess I missed my watch,” she muttered somewhat wistfully.

“I'll forgive it.”

“Thank you, oh gracious teacher of mine.”

“Go get some rest. Set up a place for you in the main hall since you seem to like it there.”

“Thank you.” There was a moment where she debated embracing him but instead turned and worked her way back down to the courtyard.

Coming to check on her not long after, he gently tugged a book from her still gloved fingers and pulled a rough blanket up around her shoulders. She sighed, settling restlessly in her sleep, and he admitted to himself that goodbye was going to be harder than he thought.

 


	6. A Parting Gift

_She had no memory of how she got to this position, but when she opened her eyes she met Eskel's gentle gaze. Head on his lap, she relaxed into the feeling of him stroking the side of her face. This was a dream, it had to be, were it not for the fact the edge she couldn't quite see the clenching of his jaw or the red that blossomed on her shirt._

_A sharp pang broke through the fog and she winced, he pressed one arm down across her shoulders when she struggled against the pain. Other hands were touching her, there was a tugging at her skin. She smothered a scream, aware of the tear in his shoulder that a wound of his own showed through. Something in her mind told her that she should be worried but another shock of pain tore her attention from his injury. He winced against the strain on his shoulder from restraining her, gritting his teeth._

_“Cerissa, please.”_

_“Eskel, it hurts,” she whined._

_“Hush. I'm here, you're safe.” He waved a hand over her face, and there was a stuporous feeling that enveloped her._

_'He used axii on me,’ some part of her mind realized, already slipping back into unconsciousness._

 

“Cerissa!”

She bolted upright, one arm folded across her stomach. Gentle hands on her shoulders pushed her back down and she struggled with something of a whimper.

“Cerissa, it's me. Calm down. It was just a nightmare.”

She still panted slightly, tense in Eskel's grip, but leaned in to rest her head on his shoulder. It was hard to tell the difference between dream and reality for a moment and she jolted slightly when she felt him brush hair out of her face.

“Huge claw marks had torn open my stomach, and I think someone was trying to stitch the wound closed. You were injured too, something had caught you across your shoulder and I could see the wound through a tear in your coat. It hurt so much and I was struggling, but you pinned me down but I could tell it hurt…” She sighed, “You used axii to keep me from struggling, then I passed out.”

“It was just a dream,” he assured her.

She had persuaded him to at least see her home, partially surprised at how easy it was to change his mind. He insisted that it was only going to be a day or two, but it had bled into a week now and she wondered if he even wanted to leave. Cerissa had asked one quiet evening in her study and her only answer was a smirk. One of the older maids, a widow named Marian, had taken a shining to him, winking at Cerissa whenever she would leave the room. The stable hand adored Scorpion, speaking about how wonderful it was to have two black horses around, and when he was sure Eskel wasn't looking, snuck apples to the horses. Antony himself seemed to give into the thought of having him around after the first day or two, perhaps pleased Cerissa had something other than books to occupy her free time.

Instead of disappearing into her study night after night, she often tried to teach him the fine points of a good game of Gwent and was sorely disappointed each time when he didn't seem to grasp the strategy. She insisted that cards and swords weren't all that different, trying to explain how being familiar with the construction of your deck made it easier to plan much like experience in battle, but she was sure he was only playing to make her happy. Cerissa huffed when Antony insisted it was because she was the best player in town that he seemed so terrible.

“Not that I'm thrilled to see you first thing in the morning,” she laughed, “But may I ask what you're doing in the complete opposite wing that your room is in?”

“Coming to wake my favorite student, of course.”

“Eskel, you're not wearing any of your gear,” she rolled her eyes and sat back, trying to hold back the smile that tugged at her lips. “So don't give me that bullshit.”

He looked much softer without wearing his witcher gear, that much she would allow. The scars, no matter how used to them she was, were still jarring and though the same eyes that looked back at her in every reflection they were so much more intense when they weren't her own. Perhaps it was the color, his being much more golden than her green-tinged ones but even Antony had commented on how the small difference left a big impression. She wondered if being from different schools, the mutagens used in their respective trials had anything to do with the difference.

Then again, she had yet to see a griffin with green eyes. Red, yes. Even pale gold. But never green.

“I have a surprise. And I wanted to get it over with before Antony starts his daily round of hovering.”

“Gods forbid his mistress spends time alone with another man.” She shrugged, “Give me a minute to get some half decent clothes on.”

“Not just any man, the one that stole her for months on end doing who knows what horrors to her.”

“Oh dear, subjecting her to another terrible game of Gwent! Terrible! Or heaven forbid he makes her actually be a witcher!” She slipped off her bed and behind her changing panel, digging through her trunk. “Do I need an audience? I can assure you there's no magic trap doors I'll disappear through.”

The smirk was almost audible. “Just enjoying the view.”

“Eskel!” She very nearly shrieked, throwing her nightgown over the wooden panel at him. He laughed, ducking out of the way. “Oh yes, the lovely view of the top of my head.” She laughed, slipping her tunic over her head and tossing her head to try to get her hair to settle. In recent months she had kept it short, tired of the wind knotting it but still missing the braids she used to wear. She frowned when she looked into the mirror above her wash basin. “I almost look like a boy.”

“I can assure you that you certainly don't.” She blushed and he chuckled. “Take that however you want.”

“For a witcher, you have poor eyesight,” she tugged on the pants from one of her thinner armor sets and came from behind the screen while running her fingers through her hair. “Alright, surprise me.”

“Come on, let's go see Moose.”  
  
“...My horse is my surprise?”

“He's precious to you, is he not?” Eskel stood, stretching his hands over his head in a way that made his shirt ride up. A few thin silver lines ran across what skin she could see and he rolled his shoulders before beckoning for her to follow. “Then you should take care of what you love.”

 

 

Mane trimmed and coat freshly combed, Cerissa couldn't help the small gasp at the new riding saddle the stablehand was carefully fastening into place. Scroll work adorned the lower edges and the leather was a much darker color than her previous saddle, untouched or faded by the sun day in and day out. Moose struggled for a moment under the unfamiliar weight but a carrot was more than enough to distract him, happily biting into the offered vegetable with a loud crunch.

“A new saddle?”

“Yours was falling apart, and don't say it wasn't. I was getting tired of watching you sew straps back together.”

“Thank you,” She didn't hesitate to hug him this time, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing tightly before releasing her hold. “I'm sure Moose appreciates it too, probably will feel better to have one that fits properly.” He struggled to find the proper words that didn't sound forced, and instead was relieved when she turned and excitedly hurried over to Moose. “Of course I'm not in the best riding clothes right now.”

“At least see how it feels, miss!” The boy insisted. “It's such a lovely saddle.”

“Well,” she eased one foot into a stirrup, reached up as she normally would but found the reach wasn't as straining. A small warmth spread in her chest as she adjusted, then pulled herself up. Carefully, Cerissa swung her other leg around to slip her foot into the other stirrup. There was a slight stiffness she wasn't used to, but it certainly felt more like it had been crafted for her and less like she was making do with what she had. She wiggled a little, testing it, and looked down to see a griffin's head etched into the leather just under where the horn met the seat.

“Eskel,” she groaned, “How much did you spend on my horse?”

“You mean how much did I spend on you.” He corrected, “Do you like it?”

“Eskel.”

He rolled his eyes, coming to stand beside her and scratching at the white blaze between Moose's eyes. “Like I said, Cerissa, you take care of what you love.”

“Love?” She repeated, narrowing her eyes at him.

“I trained a witcher not of my own school for the better part of a year, threw myself in the way of numerous blows for her, pretended to sleep so if something happened during her watch I could easily intervene-”

“I just thought you were a light sleeper!”  
  
“What does a predator have to be afraid of?” He shook his head, smiling up at her. “Now do you like it or no?”

“You're just going to say something like that and keep going?” She carefully shifted to sit side saddle with a scowl.

The stable hand had retreated to cleaning and trimming Scorpion's hooves, making small gagging sounds. Cerissa shot him a pointed look and he stuck out his tongue in defiance, the stallion* now nibbling restlessly at the stable hand's hair.

“Cerissa,” he sighed, “I've been saying it long before I said the words.”

“Well,” she held out her arms pointedly and he helped lift her down. She squeezed him across his shoulders, pressing a light kiss to his jaw before he set her down. “I do like it. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

It was an empty automatic response that he mentally kicked himself for, but by the way she tugged at his hand as she led him back to the manor for breakfast he could tell she had already forgotten it. She knew this meant he actually was going to leave for a time, and she worried wordlessly about how empty it was going to feel. It was time to return to something of a normal life, she knew this, but it would doubtlessly leave a little gap in what had become of her daily routine.

 

 

 

The next morning was difficult, standing in her one of her house dresses and watching him check his pack and saddlebags to make sure he had everything he needed. Eskel had protested when she slipped him some extra coin but she insisted, citing her family business made more than she was ever going to need or spend. Antony watched from one of the manor windows, a small smile on his face.

The older man knew perfectly what was going through his mistress' mind. She looked much more like the girl he used to know, shoulders slumped and hands nervously clasped in front of her. She gnawed at her lower lip, trying her best to ignore the nervous snorts of Moose who was getting progressively more upset Scorpion was saddled up and he wasn't. Cerissa reached out absently to scratch his nose and he flicked his head away, not getting the prize he was seeking.

Marian paused by the window as well, frowning. “The young man is leaving?”

Antony had to hold back the urge to correct her that he was probably older than she was, knowing the nature of the two's profession. “It seems so,” he nodded, watching carefully every time Cerissa moved.

“Wonder how the young miss will handle being alone.”

“Being alone is not the problem I foresee,” Antony shook his head. “The young mistress loves him, yes, and has grown used to his company but it will be the change in routine that will probably effect her more.”

“She loves him?” Her gaze flew upwards to read Antony's face, one hand going to her chest.

“I saw it even before they left that she had taken an interest in him,” the older man smiled knowingly. He could hear it in the way she laughed with shared tales of contracts, see it in how her gaze softened when she thought Eskel wasn't looking. Perhaps the most puzzling thing to Antony was that he looked the same way at her and the majordomo couldn't but wonder when they allowed themselves the shift in their relationship.

“Of all the men,” the chambermaid shook her head, gathering up her skirts before hurrying back to tidying Cerissa's bedroom.

“He's perfect for her,” Antony muttered approvingly, though the woman had long left earshot.

 

 

“You'll be careful, right? And write when you can? Promise me you'll at least write.”

“I will,” he assured her for what felt like the tenth time that morning alone. He turned to her with something of a huff, a hand to her cheek and thumb rubbing the thin scar that ran along her jaw. “Have some faith in me. I've done this longer than you've been alive.”

“I know, but-” she stopped herself, shaking her head. “Never mind.”

“Three months ago we sat next to each other watching the dying coals of a fire,” he started, “You spoke so easily about how you wanted to taste wine in Toussaint other than Everluce, or visit a vineyard, and participate in a tourney. You looked up from the fire to measure my expression and immediately told me to forget you said anything. My question, Cerissa, is when have I ever made you feel like this?”

“Like what?”

“That any emotion not stolen by your mutations is pointless.” He scowled, “You're ashamed to admit when you want something.”

“But you don't get nervous like I do,” she challenged.

“I do,” he admitted, “But I've learned there is something more important than the worry you'll reject me. I offered my help and you accepted it. You let me into your home and trusted your back to me when you had no reason to other than a vague sense of solidarity. I decided early on that even if the feeling wasn't mutual that being anything to you was enough.” His face softened into a smile and she found herself smiling as well.

“Never took you for the romantic.”

“Then that's one more thing you've haven't been paying attention to.”

“Taking a woman to a field at midnight to banish the tortured soul of a young woman who was killed there doesn't count as romance, Eskel.”

“I don't know, I got a pretty great view of a strong young griffin testing her wings from where I was standing,” he laughed and a small blush lit her cheeks. “You don't realize how often I pause to watch you, Cerissa. You'll be just fine without me. You have an admirable confidence in your craft, even before I started filling in the blanks, and it's always been one of the things that makes me stop to listen when you speak or have patience when you get lead off on a tangent by your passions.”

“I'll miss you,” she offered lamely.

“I know, but I need to go see to some things that could get pretty messy and I don't want you getting caught up in them.”

“One more thing before you go?”

“Hm?”

She roughly grabbed him by the chain of his medallion and held him there, reaching up on her toes to press her lips to his. He wrapped one arm around her waist, fighting a pleased grin, and almost wasn't willing to let her go when she finally pulled away.

“Come back to me in one piece,” she muttered, letting go of the chain. “That's my only request.”

He snuck another kiss before releasing her, grinning. “I'll do what I can.”

“No trying. Only doing. You will come back to me alive. I don't care how you do it.”

“One kiss and suddenly you're much more sure of yourself.”

“You told me it's important to take care of the things you love, so by extension you'd have to take care of yourself.” She sighed, waving him off. “Go on, you've got a long ride ahead of you. Don't let one love sick fledgling hold you back.”

_You are so much more than a fledgling, Cerissa._

 

 

Cerissa watched after him long after he was gone from sight, praying to any god that she knew but didn't believe in to give him safe passage. “Please,” she begged silently, feeling her throat tighten for the first time in years. “I can't take losing someone else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * It's never made clear that I could tell if Scorpion is a gelding or stallion, so I guessed.


	7. On Bone and Brick

Wiping away the blood that had sprayed on her face away with a sleeve, Cerissa snorted in disgust and wiped her steel blade on one of the bandit's shirts before slipping it back into the scabbard. Just beyond the camp was the ruined remains of a castle. After a quick search through the camp for anything of value, she tugged on Moose's reigns to lead him along. He stamped nervously once on the now overgrown path leading the castle, pulling against Cerissa and she sighed.

“Fine, then wait here.”

All that remained was the southern wall of what she had known to be the main hall. Twisted metal greeted her at the top of the path, surrounded by crumbling piles of stone that was marred with soot. She picked her way over the low wall and through the debris to stand where the doors should have been. One hand rested on a low pile of gray stone, her face crumpled slightly.

Ghosts of memories danced through her mind, being the only girl in a group of boys that hit her every chance they got. She had pouted at first, let them have their way with her, and it was only when she was pushed to the ground one day that she gave another person a black eye for the first time. Scrubbing the floors of the main hall had been her punishment along with waking up earlier than the other teens in her group for more drills.

This shell wasn't home.

It wasn't like Kaer Morhen was for Eskel that it still had good memories attached to it somewhere, or even living people to remind him of it. Maybe even a place to return to if need be. She had been the only one to make it out, or so she thought. There was no safety. Few pleasant memories. Cerissa never looked too deep into the fire that destroyed her training grounds, more scared to go back and face what remained of those ancient walls. The tunnels below were long filled with rubble and the records within were lost to her.

She took a long look at the wooden beams now turned to little more than charcoal and the crumbling walls now almost reclaimed by the forest around it. Nothing lived here, not even a wraith feeding off the residual energies. Cerissa sighed, disappointed in herself, as if she had expected to find answers by digging up something she had long buried.  
  
“Maybe...” she walked beyond a low wall, kicking aside some dead vegetation and trying to find an indent in the now charred wooden floor.

The room looked so much bigger than she was younger, and with little to go off of in terms of landmarks, it was hard to find the exact spot. For a few moments she searched until a metal ring caught her foot. Gritting her teeth, she knelt down and tugged as hard as she could. Cerissa yelped when the door flew open and made her fall backwards, releasing a cloud of ash that made her cough.

She peered over the edge and scowled. “A dose of Cat then.”

Downing the small bottle of blackened liquid with a shiver she let her eyes adjust before sitting on the edge and then pushing off and down into the dark tunnel below. Few things but mushrooms dotted the floor, the sound of dripping water far off. There was the strong chemical smell that she was familiar with from when she was younger and she felt a tinge of anger that this chamber hadn't burned as well.

Cerissa had resigned herself to the fate of a witcher, she blamed no one for it and she was not trained in the way that most were. She was only one of two girls her age, and the only one of her group to be able to tolerate the mutations. It had given her a sense of pride when she was younger but only now that she knew just how toxic the concoctions injected into her were did she realize she had only been lucky.

The tunnel opened into a room filled with all sorts of glassware and metal containers that she couldn't even begin to describe what they were. The smell was caustic, making her gag as it burned at her throat but she half heartedly put her tunic to her nose to try and filter out some of the smell. All the books were unlabeled, much to her dismay, but it was soon she realized she didn't even know what exactly she was looking for.

“It was your fault they came here,” came the voice of a man that her jump, turning and drawing her steel sword in one fluid motion.

Even with her dose of Cat still in full effect, half of the chamber was now filled with a black mist. She swallowed and instead drew her silver blade, runes glowing a faint red in the shadow.

“You came all this way and yet you don't even say hello to your old master? I hear you found a new teacher, a wolf if I'm not mistaken.” The voice tsked.

 _How does this spectre know about Eskel?_   Panic sparked in her mind for only a second before she realized that it had to be feeding off of her memories. She quickly threw an yrden circle down at her feet, glaring at the mass in front of her.

A man stepped out of the shadow, dressed in leather armor not unlike her own. With a surprisingly kind face framed by a beard that seemed connected with his hair. He held his hands folded in front of him, face appearing sunken in. Cerissa glared at the spectre. The face was wrong, eyes set too far back in the skull and jaw too wide. His nose was too small, lips too thin to be the man she had called her teacher.

“Just as I taught you,” it continued, voice filling the room though its lips didn't move. “You remember that night, right? A beautiful night, full moon and a sky full of stars. There was a chill in the air and-”

“Shut up,” she growled, “How dare you hide behind his form. Fareal would never blame me for what happened.”

“Ah, but that's where you're wrong my child.”

 _Why hasn't my medallion reacted at all to this?_   She glanced behind her, the same darkness that lingered behind the form now filling the rest of the room. She forced herself to take a deep breath, but was so focused on the form in front of her that she screamed when it felt like hands grabbed her shoulders instead and pulled her backwards into the mist.

 

 

She hit the ground with enough force that she gasped. Groaning, she sat up and then froze in place.

The floor was wood beneath her, the large stone walled room filled with light from the cathedral style windows. Outside it was night, the stars shining brightly and-

There was the sudden bang as the doors slammed open. Armored men rushed in, laughing and chanting “burn the freaks.” Dressed in long coats that almost touched the ground, they doused the perimeter of the room in oil.

“Stop!” Cerissa hurried to her feet and reached out for one of the men, freezing when her hand went right through the man's form.

“Burn! Burn them all!”

“They says they got a little girl,” one snarled, licking his lips. “Maybe we should get hers first?”

As if on cue one of the men came back into room, pulling a young woman along by her hair. Despite the fear apparent in her slitted green eyes, her lips were pressed into a thin line and she fought against the hold to stand up straight. Her hands were bound behind her with a torn piece of her shirt, exposing one of her arms. Around her neck hung a griffin's head medallion and a silver sword was strapped into place on her back, dressed in light leathers. The man tossed her into the middle of the room, landing right beside where Cerissa now stood.

“That ain't no little girl!” One of the men howled.

“She's one of them freaks too!” Another laughed, walking up to her and roughly grabbing her chin, yanking it up to get a good look at her face. She spat at them and the man howled in anger, slapping her cheek with the back of his hand so hard she fell to the side. “We'll make an example out of her!” He laughed, reaching for her. Cerissa rushed forward to catch his hand, already feeling the turning of her stomach from what would come next.

“Cerissa!”

Both the memory version of her and her physical self turned, then time seemed to freeze.

“So good to see you.”

The face was right this time. The voice was still inhuman, too strained. The smile on his lips forced. “I've missed you.” Cerissa dropped into a defensive stance, one hand reaching for her silver sword but not even finding the leather harness where she secured it.

“What's wrong, not happy to see me?”

“You're not Fareal. Stop this. He's dead.”

“Are you sure? Remember, they took you from this place and then burned it. How do you know?”

Heat suddenly filled the room, the far wall stretching to an impossible size, similar to how she would imagine a child seeing it. Flames danced at the edges of the room and quickly spread, the memory apparitions still frozen in place. The younger her's frantic screams started to fill the room though the phantoms had not moved. The apparition taking the form of Fareal grinned, the shape nearly splitting his face in half and teeth sharp.

“How foolish of you to come back here, Cerissa. I would thought _he_ taught you better than to revisit past shadows.”

The flames roared to life, licking at her skin. Cerissa took a deep breath, with shaking fingers drew the shape of quen in the air in front of her, and ducked down to memory her. Praying her plan would work, she reached for the hilt of the younger her's sword and relief washed through her when she could pull it from the scabbard. Devoid of the runes an older her had enchanted it with, it simply read her name in a dialect of Elder Speech she had long forgotten. The grip was still wrapped with white leather instead of tan, not a scratch on the blade.

It was as if it was brand new. She tested it in her hands for a moment, then turned to face the spirit. It screamed in response, making her ears ring, but she shook her head and glared at it. Pulling a small vial of oil from the small pouch at her hip, she poured it down the center of the blade and slipped the container back in her bag.

“You have no place among the living,” she intoned, taking a step forward. “You desecrate this resting ground with your presence.” She reinforced her sign shield, smirking when the spirit took a half step back from her.

The flames no longer burned her. She couldn't feel the heat. All that filled her mind was the screams of the younger children and the bloodied face of the real Fareal when a younger her knelt beside him and wept out an apology. Her bloodied fingers had clutched his amulet to her chest, cursing her mutations for not sparing her this pain. Tears came to her eyes facing the spirit and she screamed when she got close enough to drive the sword into it, its form crumbling as if made of dust.

The illusion shattered and fell away as if made of glass, returning her to the ruined walls of her former home. The sword in her hand melted away to reveal her own, the familiar glow of red dancing along its blade. In front of her was a pile of charred looking bones that she promptly lit ablaze with igni to be sure the spirit wouldn't come back.

“Rest in peace, Fareal,” she sighed, sliding her sword back into her scabbard. “I know you said it's not my fault, but I'm sorry all the same.”

Moose's whinny made her her look up at her horse, now standing just beyond what remained of the front gates and prancing nervously in place. Cerissa realized she barely had the energy to move, making herself go to him and grateful when he didn't protest after a rough mount.

“Let's go, Moose,” she sighed, rubbing the side of his neck and steering him back towards the small village they had come from. “Nothing left here.”

 

 

“Mistress,” Antony greeted her a few days later, his face wrinkling at the fatigue obvious on her features. She waved weakly then headed upstairs, not pausing to notice the envelope waiting on the front room writing desk waiting for her.

She requested a pitcher of warm water brought to her and rejected Marian's suggestion of a bath instead. Washing the worst of the grime off in the basin, the older women watched her with concern in her dark eyes.

“Are you feeling alright, dear?”

“Fine,” Was Cerissa's mumbled response, grateful that the older woman was content to gather up her scattered armor pieces and take the basin to empty out the dirty water. “There's a letter for you, dear,” she paused at the door. “Would you like me to at least make you some tea? I could bring the letter to you.”

“Please.”

“As you wish.”

“I know who it's from,” came the sing song tone of a younger man about her age and she scowled, turning her attention to the elf that now stood on her balcony. Dressed in plain clothes, he kept his ears tucked up under a headband that pushed his dusty brown hair out of his face. His face was smudged with grime, hiding the freckles that dotted his cheeks.

“Not right now, Amriel,” she sighed, crossing the room and pulling the drapes shut in his face.

“Touchy aren't we?” He stepped through the still open door, pulling it shut behind him and drawing the drapes back into the place. “What happened out there?”

“Old castle was haunted by a wraith taking Fareal's form.” She allowed, flopping heavily on her bed. “Pushed myself too hard too fast.”

He scowled, leaning against her bedroom door and crossing one arm over the other. “Maybe it's the emotional stress?” She stayed quiet and he sighed, puffing out his cheeks. “Some fun you are. Care to hear my report at least?”

Cerissa nodded, “Please.”

“There's something going on down there, that guess of yours was correct. 'Course I don't wear a magical dowsing rod around my neck, but it doesn't seem...natural? Nothing looks out of the ordinary aside from the witch hunter prison that you already knew about, though.” He paused with a shrug, “A few bodies, but it'd better if you looked at them yourself.”

“Got them marked on a map for me?”

Amriel grinned, fishing in his pocket for a neatly folded piece of paper. “What do you take me for, madam? Of course I do. Now, let's talk payment.”

She groaned. “You're worse than a witcher. Ten bizants.”

“Fifteen.”

“Twelve, last offer.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, setting the paper on her desk.

“Coin purse is still in Moose's saddlebags, get the coin to you tomorrow,” she sighed.

“That tired huh? Don't you want to know what wolf boy's been up to?”

Cerissa pushed herself upright, quirking an eyebrow, “Eskel wrote me?”

Amriel shrugged, flicking his wrist and producing a still sealed envelope. Cerissa knew better than to assume he hadn't read it. “If I remember right, he said he would and he doesn't seem like the kind of man to go back on his word.” The elf laughed, coming over to hand the envelope to her. “One mention of your lover boy and some life comes back into you. Had I know that's all it took, would have given you this sooner.” He plopped himself into the chair at her vanity, elbow on the vanity and chin rested on his hand.

Cerissa tried not to look as eager as she felt when she broke the wax seal that held it shut. The writing was smudged with water damaged but still legible, the words themselves ranging from hurried to perfectly neat. He had obviously written this at different intervals, the paragraphs sometimes jumping from topic to topic. She smiled, though, and undid the final fold for a pile of stiff feathers to fall into her lap.

 _To replace the ones you gave the godling_ , read a note tied to them. _I'm sure you'll find a use for them._

“He sent me feathers,” she almost giggled at the thought.

Amriel groaned, “I knew the old man said you really liked this guy, but sheesh Cerissa.”

“Hush up, you. At least someone _wants_  me.” She set the feathers aside, setting herself on reading the main part of the letter.

_Cerissa,_

_If it's possible I think Scorpion misses Moose more than you probably miss me.* He was very unsettled for the first few days, I think he had gotten used to having a companion._

She shook her head, of course he would focus on his horse more.

_Other than that, it's another day and another nekker nest or group of drowners. Went back south past the border of Kovir and Poviss, aiming to get back to what I had planned when I first left the keep._

_Please be careful, there's something going on in your town and I can't quite place it. That's originally what I was looking into when we met- maybe it's not too late for you to follow up on it._

_Doesn't feel the same,_ she smiled, being able to tell he stopped to cross those words out, then started again, _It's different without you. Maybe I got used to having someone there too. Miss you,_ he had crossed that out as well, only to rewrite it. _Be careful, that's all I ask. Don't know when I'll make my way back to Kovir, but I'll try to let you know before I do. Miss you more than you know._

_Yours,  
Eskel_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Can't just say you miss a woman, hun? This is actually playing off the fact Moose gets nervous whenever he leaves for whatever reason.


	8. An Inconvenience

_To The Marchioness Lamonia,_ the invitation had started in a curling script that was obviously done by a professional hand. Cerissa had almost glared at the envelope for a moment, then resigned herself to knowing that no matter what she wanted to RSVP to this invitation, it would ultimately by Antony who sent the response due to her terrible handwriting. Setting it aside, she hoped she could make it disappear, only to be standing in front of the fitting mirror at a seamstress' shop a few days later.

“Do I really need to attend, Antony? I doubt they intended to invite the _freak_ ,” she poured as much as acid as possible into the insult commonly thrown her way, “to a wedding. That's all they need. Me witching the guests or some such.” She wiggled her fingers at him dramatically.

Antony rolled his eyes and ignored her. “Now, it would be improper for you to wear black to a wedding, as much as you seem to enjoy the color, so I was thinking maybe a blue or red would be a better choice.”

“Or we could say neither and I could pack my things, then head out on the Path again.” She shrugged, “That sounds like a plan too.”

“Now, now, mistress Cerissa, you know as well as I that the head of a family is expected to show to all formal occasions they are invited to.”

“And if I were to receive an invitation while away on a contract?”

“Then I would attend in your place.”

“Perfect idea! You could go for me! You're much better at dancing and courtly intrigue anyway.”

 

He pursed his lips in thought, and she looked back at him through the reflection in the mirror while the woman took her measurements. “Such wide hips!” She whistled, “You'll make a man proud someday! Though you should really do something with that hair, dear.”

Antony caught Cerissa's eye in her reflection in the mirror and shook his head the slightest bit, advising her to just let the comment go and not say anything. Cerissa laughed nervously, tossing her head to her hair out of her face. “Yeah, maybe some day.”

“Now, what were you thinking for materials, miss?”

Antony cut her off the second she opened her mouth. “It will be an indoor affair so perhaps silk would be appropriate? Were it outside I would suggest cotton or wool.”

The woman took a step back to carefully assess Cerissa, titling her head in thought. Standing in riding clothes that left little to the imagination, Cerissa was suddenly aware of the way her hair was wind tossed or how her eyes seemed much too bright in the candlelit room. And for a moment the scar along her jaw that was once stroked gently felt like it was as gaping as when she earned it. One hand went to her neck to cover the bite scar from the bruxa and she lifted an eyebrow at the woman to prompt her to speak.

“A young witcher should be mysterious and have an air of magic so that all will speak of you as if they know you,” the woman nodded, deciding something to herself. “But you need to have the appearance of the proper young woman you are. Something strong but regal, dear. Now tell me, what's your favorite color?”

“Gold,” Cerissa answered too quickly for even her own taste and immediately regretted it when Antony sighed and shifting how he was standing.

The woman, ever unaware of the connection, nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps some gold fastenings or trim along the bodice. With a dark blue that could look quite regal on your, my dear.”

Cerissa nodded, just wanting this to be over so she could escape the lecture she knew was coming. When finally dismissed by the seamstress, she hurried home without a word to her most trusted servant.

 

 

“Cerissa, really?”

“Amriel!” She groaned, sinking into one of the chairs in the dining hall. “I don't need you rubbing it too.”

“Out of all the colors you like, you choose _gold_?”

She scowled, trying to ignore him but not succeeding when he proceeded to slide into the chair opposite hers. Cerissa glared at him, “Tell me you did not come back all the way to our humble sea port to tease me about my child-like infatuation with a man.”

“No, but I'll admit it's my favorite part.” He grinned, sighing when her scowl only deepened. “Now do I get to tail along or am I just going to waste away her while you dine on the best coin can buy?”

“Want to go for me? I'm sure you could hold your illusions long enough.”

“Sorry, I have a personality. They'd notice.” He stuck his tongue out at her in a way that earned him something of a snort.

“Fair enough. Need someone to watch my back anyway.”

“You're going to a wedding,” he lifted an eyebrow, “Not a grand masquerade. Surely you don't need a body guard, or she-who-killed-a-man-with-her-bare-hands.”

“I used signs,” she corrected him, “Plus, Antony would have chest pains if I came home with a singed hem because I lit someone on fire.”

“I think he'd have chest pains if you went to an event in which he was expecting you to have fun and be a semi normal person and come home injured or showing signs of a fight, not because you defended yourself- regardless of what you were wearing.” Amriel shrugged, “Am I to be an official guest of yours or just be your bodyguard?”

“Up to you, you're the elf.”

He groaned, “Not what I asked, Cerissa.”

“I get spat at as witcher and called a pox ridden freak. You're the one who was almost hung from the gallows for stealing an apple to feed your little sister.” She huffed, “Up to you.”

“I could just disguise myself...”

“Always an option too. That being said, I want you there. Either way, you're going to need something more than sewage stained thief's clothes and maybe a hair cut.” She shifted slightly, closing her eyes for moment, before lowering her voice. He knew she was listening to make sure no one was close enough to listen in. “I want to take you with me to investigate what you found tonight, alright?”

Sensing the shift, he nodded wordlessly. “See you after dinner?”

“Right after,” she nodded, then went upstairs to change out of her riding clothes.

 

 

“With that super nose of yours,” Amriel groaned in barely a whisper, “I don't know how you tolerate this place.”

Cerissa elected to ignore him, instead listening to every drip of water and creak of stone. Truth be told she would have preferred to leave him home, especially after her medallion had not stopped humming since they entered the tunnels. She had long tucked it under her shirt, one hand on her sword at her hip, to try and hide the feeling of unease. It was mostly black down here and Amriel didn't stray more than a few steps away from her, not having the benefit of her potions like she did. Every once and awhile something would fall through a grate and he would start slightly.

Cerissa insisted he use no magic though he had initially begged her to, more because the path he outlined on his crude map would skirt the witch hunter's base under the city and she did not want to risk an encounter with them. Paying them off to ignore her or using axii on the lone ones was easy enough, but it would much more difficult with someone following her.

The two had already found one of the bodies next to what looked like a grate blown out by a small explosion. Any injury to the body was internal, looking more like the force from the explosion had killed him than an external force. She made a mental note in her head of where the grate was and promised herself to explore further when she was alone or to venture back more towards dawn and she wouldn't have to rely on Cat to see more than a few inches in front of her. Turning a corner, she very nearly stepped on the second but stopped herself at the last second.

It was a young woman, dress torn. When she knelt next to it she guessed the woman had been dead for less than forty-eight hours. From the thick metallic smell still hanging in the air around her, she probably bled out. She felt along the woman's neck and exposed skin for wounds, only finding a large patch of skin that had been torn from her arms. It was too precise to be claws of a monster, the edges clean as nearly symmetrical. The woman was almost certainly alive when she was brought here.

Turning her arm, Cerissa could see straight through to the bones and ligaments. She scowled, trying not to force a connection between this body and the one near the entrance since there was little similarities between the injuries. Standing, she turned to Amriel.

“There was one more, right?”

“Yeah, just up the corridor. There will be a fork up ahead, take the path on the right.”

Just beyond the fork was another woman's body, the same wound on her forearm. This time she had been dead when her remains were dumped here. And this time, it felt like something was tugging at Cerissa to listen. Cautiously, she lowered herself to her knees and made a mental note to wear her knee pads next time she decided to traipse through the sewers. The wet floor made a squelching sound under her weight that made her cringe.

“Amriel, please watch my back.”

“Here of all places?”

“Unless you are feeling the same tug I am, this is the only thing I can think of doing.”

“Think it's safe?”

“It's just a trance. And I worked with Eskel on how to snap back out quickly should I need to. Trust me on this one.”

He nodded, then she closed her eyes and let her breathing fall into a slower pattern. Already she felt the damp cold of the sewers slipping away and in its place was this almost stifling heat. Cerissa reached out to the presence, hoping it was just some lingering energy and not a whole spirit.

_A burning pain erupted on the under side of her right arm and there was some sort of cloth over her face. A man was speaking, but she couldn't tell what he was saying. Too tired. Too heavy._

_The woman had been under the influence of something._

_Then everything felt like it was falling away, gripping at reality like a person struggling to swim. A single gasp._

_The air seeped out of her lungs without any effort._

_Gone_.

 

Cerissa shuddered, opening her eyes and getting to her feet. “Rest in peace,” she muttered, pouring a small amount of oil on the remains then lighting them aflame with igni.

“Necessary?” Amriel hissed, but she nodded.

“What's left her of her spirit will only linger and turn into a wraith. And the corpse attracts necrophages. Come on, the smell is making me sick. Let's go home.”

Amriel barely had time to answer before she turned and followed their steps back to the surface.

Her medallion was still humming.

 

 

Easing herself into a tub infused with rosemary oils, Cerissa sighed with relief. The warm water eased her tender knees, easing the cold that seeped beneath her skin. Once they left the tunnels the humming had stopped, not nearly as insistent as the night she was attacked by the bruxa. And yet, she was no closer to answering what this mysterious killer had been aiming to do by taking chunks of flesh from young women, or whether there were more bodies that Amriel had yet to find. He had offered to return to tunnels the next day to do a more thorough search and she forbade him, the fact her makeshift funeral had not stopped the presence left a sour taste in her mouth and she was not going to put someone naturally inclined to magic in danger just to satisfy her own curiosity.

“Eskel would have some idea of where to go from here,” she groaned, leaning back and submerging as much as she could into the warm water. She had let her mind wander and it wasn't her until Marian called her name that she had realized she had been lost in thoughts for so long.

She hurried through scrubbing herself clean in the now chilled water, slipping into one of her house robes and her old habits when she disappeared into her study for the remainder of the night.

 

Cerissa couldn't help the small grin on her face less than a week later, turning in the mirror to get a better view of the dress. The simple undergarment was a deep gold, going all the way to the floor, with a second thinner layer over it in dark blue. The sleeves hung loosely from her elbows, the lining the same color as the undergarment. A delicate belt hung from her waist in what looked a dusted bronze and all visible stitching had been done in gold tinted thread. The neckline was perhaps deeper than she would have hoped, easily showing off the scar on her neck, but the seamstress insisted no one would notice it with her necklace.

She sighed, resigning herself to it, and let the woman make the necessary adjustments.

 

 

The music and smell of freshly roasted meats greeted her long before she stepped into the hall. A crown of flowers placed atop her braids by the mother of the bride, she at least looked the part of the regal noble even if she didn't feel the part. Amriel followed close behind, ears well hidden behind a veil of magic he was sure only she would be able to detect. Wearing a dark red vest over a billowing white shirt, he perhaps walked with his head held higher than she did.

“At least look like you're having fun, Cerissa. It is a wedding, not a funeral.”

“I despise dresses,” she grumbled, “the sleeves always pinch in weird places and I feel so vulnerable.”

“You look lovely,” He bowed to her just beyond the doors, pausing to kiss the back of her fingers. “Should you need me, you need only call.”

“Thank you, Amriel. Go, indulge on the festivities.”

 


	9. On Dancing And Drunks

Clutching a goblet of Est Est perhaps too tightly, Cerissa made a sweep of the room before paying her well wishes to the couple. Amriel across the room had already danced several of the single women, smiling along with them while they giggled with rich blushes on their cheeks at his no doubt flattering compliments. Many men of varying ages had offered her dances as well, and she had rejected almost every one of them, after several rejected advances Amriel came to join her.

“I know you like to dance, why are you being like this?”

“Something feels wrong here,” she murmured, eyes unfocused and he could tell she was listening to every sound in the room to try and justify her discomfort.

“Because you're not wearing armor and handsome men want your attention? From what I can tell in your taste in ballads, you seem to like handsome older men.”

Cerissa rolled her eyes. “I like tales of adventure and the slaying of monsters,” she corrected.

“Come on, dance with me,” he tugged at her arm. “At least look like you're having fun. No doubt that dress was expensive. Shame for you to hide in the shadows all night in it.”

She sighed, setting the goblet down on the tray of a passing server, and allowed him one dance.

 

“Ey, witcher!”

It was the banker calling to her not long after she stepped off the dance floor, seated at table with several other men and a woman who certainly didn't look like she was from the mainland. Glaring at the cards in front of her as if they had betrayed her, she crossed her arms over her chest. Cerissa noticed the slight glow to her eyes first, then the scar that ran across her nose. Dressed in deep blue and purple, her fur-lined hood of her coat was the only thing that seemed initially out of the ordinary. Making her way over to the table, Cerissa slid into a seat next to the banker.  
  
“Playing even at a formal wedding?”

“Always a good time for Gwent!” The dwarf laughed, “Do you have your deck?”

“Here,” Amriel provided after only a moment of pause, most of the men at the table jumped when he seemingly appeared out of thin air. He grinned at her, offering her a small bundle wrapped in a red scarf. “Thought you'd manage to find a game or two and want to play.” He slid in on the other side of Cerissa.

“Don't have much coin on me,” she provided, making nearly everyone at the table chuckle.

“We'll know where to collect if you get to losing,” the dwarf winked. “Now, I may have something that tickles your fancy that's not coin- I hear you're a fan of his.” He pulled a card from a smaller stack separated from the rest of his deck, then held it out for her to see.

Gold bordered, there was the portrait of a man whose white hair made him look much older than she knew him to be. Sword in hand, he looked braced to fight an unseen foe, yellowed eyes narrowed into a glare. Cerissa gasped with delight upon seeing the wolf head medallion around the man's neck and piecing it together.

The banker laughed, the sound easily filling their corner of the large hall, as he set the card on top of his stack of extra cards. “I knew that'd tickle your fancy. I'd wager it'll go well in your monster deck. Now come on, shuffle and draw up, miss, and we'll see if you can earn it.”

 

 

“Alright, alright, he's yours.” The banker laughed after Cerissa had crushed him easily in two rounds, sliding her the card that she promptly tucked into her bundle with the rest of her extra cards with a pleased smirk. He could tell she was already planning how to work it into her deck and which cards would work best with it.

“So much does the miss owe?” Cerissa nodded towards the other woman at the table, who had relaxed slightly during the previous game, leaning forward to watch the board more carefully, but still had her lips pressed into a thin line.

“More than I think you'd be willing to wager, Cerissa.” Amriel provided with a laugh.

“I'm not- I'm not that far gone,” the woman protested.

“Aye, your heart may be leading down a dangerous path, miss,” one other men piped up. “Young miss here is to the point of handing out her underthings.”

“Well then,” Cerissa straightened, tossing a head to resettle her hair. “If I win, let's say...three? Four games, maybe, I'll have her work off her debt and pay you lot the difference since you'll know where to collect.” The woman stared at Cerissa wide eyed, mouth agape for moment before clamping her jaw shut with an audible click. “I'm sure Antony won't mind yet another body to look after.”

 

Many rounds of drinks later, she had been able to more than win her original wager, and even earned some coin in the process. Amriel had long gained a blush to his cheeks that were they at the manor and his illusions were dispelled, the tips of his ears would have been red too. The woman, whom Cerissa learned was named Olwen, had loosened up just as easily as the rest of the group with a few more drinks. Her accent was thick, obviously of the isles, and she only got progressively more rowdy as the rest of the party continued on around them.

 

Not many paid attention to the small group of misfits playing cards together, and it was much more preferable over the alternative of standing against a wall drinking wine that left her with a yearning that was new to her.

“Hear you got a man in yer life now,” the banker started, “Dark haired fellow with a garish scar on his face.”

“The lady witcher has a man?” One of the other men at the table laughed, “Never would happen!”

“Nah, sees, he's like her! He got them cat eyes too!”

Cerissa kept her eyes on the board in front of her instead, shuffling her hand repeatedly in an attempt to ignore them. One of them slapped her roughly on the back, making her scowl and take a deep breath. She resigned herself to the fact the game wasn't going to go any further until she gave them what they wanted.

“Come on, Cerissa!”

“Yeah, tell us about this lad!”

Amriel got a mischievous grin that earned him a glare which would have stopped any bandit in their tracks. He hummed to himself, obviously toying with the idea of speaking for her if she didn't loosen her lips. She sighed, setting her hand down.

“His name is Eskel, thank you," she grumbled.

“Good for you, lass!”

Olwen chuckled, tacking another sip from her mug of ale. “What an interesting man he must be.”

Cerissa groaned when the conversation topic stayed there for the remainder of the night, the men all taking bets and making guesses about what kind of man would lay with the resident griffin.

 

 

“Antony,” Cerissa called as she stepped through the front door, Olwen in tow.

Amriel had taken the back door as he preferred, not liking to be seen by Cerissa's personal chambermaid for fear she would lecture him yet again for tracking mud through the manor or getting into too many fights and making more work for Antony. He was careful not to dispel his illusion before slipping out of sight of Olwen, though he was sure she already knew he was hiding behind magic.

The older man appeared on cue, strolling down the stairs with a soft smile, “And I see you have brought someone new yet again.”

“Apparently I'm a collector of oddities.”

“Your study speaks volumes to this, madam. Now, shall I make tea for you and-”

“Olwen,” she provided, stepping from behind Cerissa and walking the perimeter of the foyer. “Pleasure. No offense, but it's not exactly what I would've thought a witcher hideout would look like.”

“There's witch hunters in town, miss,” Antony provided gently, undeterred by her brash honesty. “It would be unwise for her to-”

“Witch hunters, bitch hunters. She's a witcher, not a stray cat. A proper grown woman, she is, she can handle 'erself. Church slaves are no reason for someone like 'er to go hidin'.”

Cerissa inwardly sighed, “I am the heiress to a dimeritium mine in the mountains. This is just the family manor.” She shrugged, “Granted, I've made adjustments here and there, but it's nothing really extravagant.”

She pursed her lips in thought, looking over the coat of arms hanging from the wall. “If you say so. You at least play a mean game o' Gwent. Guess I'll stay around awhile before shoving off again.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Olwen is the brain child of tumblr user kehbeck, who also drew my icon of Cerissa. <3


	10. On Reunions and Blood Bonds

_Antony,_ read a letter in a hurried hand that made the older gentleman smile as he settled in a chair in the dining hall.

From just behind the large wooden doors that lead to the basement and Cerissa's study, he could hear her speaking in hushed tones with Amriel about some magical formula she was working on and wanted him to test since her signs were limited. He groaned but would no doubt grudgingly agree.  
  
_I'm sure I can trust you with knowing I'll be making my way back to the manor in the coming week or two, but please don't say anything to Cerissa._ He had written something, then scratched it out before starting again.

 _You're no fool, and I'm sure you knew before we did that we would have feelings for each other. Thank you for allowing me to stay with her, though I'm sure she would have found me even if you forbade it. She means,_ several words were crossed out, he obviously had struggled with finding the right phrasing. _I adore her. And she is lucky to have someone like you in her life. You must be so proud of her._

Antony smiled warmly, reading the short letter over several times before folding it up and tucking it away in his doublet pocket.

 

 

“Mistress Lamonia!” Marian woke her early one day the following week, knocking excitedly at her door. “You have a visitor!”  
  
“Before breakfast even?” She grumbled, but grudgingly climbing out of bed and hurrying through getting dressed. Pulling on her simple linen shirt without the leather vest she wore over it and the matching pants, she slipped her boots on and tapped the toes against the floor to make them more snug before tugging open the door with a small yawn.

Olwen had quickly made herself comfortable, unpacking most the odds and ends stories and papers she weighed down her horse, a gelding named Modolf, with. Her room was cozy with thick sheets and blankets, drapes replaced with a tapestry from Skellige that Antony had managed to find for her. The fine silk rug had been replaced by a bear skin Amriel told Olwen he found for her at the market, then asked Antony to find someone to have it cleaned and tanned to preserve it. Cerissa had been the one to track the bear for him outside of the city walls and helped him to skin it once he took it down himself, practically smirking at his disgusted expression as she carefully cut away the tissue. When asked why she was so proficient at cleaning kills, she simply pointed to her medallion and kept cutting. In the days that followed, Antony had taken it upon himself to secure a reliable armorer and blacksmith to work with both women and had procured some recipes from the isles for the kitchen staff to practice on. There was enough bear meat in the following days after the kill that Olwen grew suspicious, but Cerissa only shrugged when she was pressed for details.

Olwen rarely was up before lunch, and stayed up much later than Cerissa. It worked well, giving Cerissa the morning to tend to her tasks before her new found companion was awake. This particular morning, she had planned on spending in the garden Antony had gotten freshly seeded since the danger of frost had long passed. From the look on Marian's face, she could tell that plan was better forgotten.

The woman huffed, hands on her hips, and ushered Cerissa back into the room. “No proper lady should be seen like this by her guests!” Not awake enough yet to put up a fight, she let the older woman straighten her clothes and more carefully comb out her hair, pinning some of it back out of her face. “At least wash your face, dear.”

When the older woman was satisfied, she finally let Cerissa got to the foyer to meet with her visitor. Still yawning, she paused at the front of the steps and was about to call out for Antony, when she froze in place.

“Eskel!” She beamed, practically running to meet him.

Back turned to her and instead inspecting a new weapon rack Antony had installed shortly after Olwen's arrival, he laughed when she hugged him tight around the waist, the sound more like a dog's bark.

“You'd think I've been gone for longer than a month.”

“It was too quiet without you,” She released him, letting him turn to look at her. “Besides, I need your help on something and you need to meet Olwen.”

“Missed you too.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“They made it seem like I had someone normal calling for me,” she huffed, “You know where my room is. Could have just come up and seen me.”

“I think Antony might have died on the spot to have me sneak into your room while you're asleep unannounced.”

“On the contrary,” Came Antony's voice as he joined the two, a smile on his face. “You seem to have the misunderstanding I don't value your presence. You are always welcome here, though I do appreciate your attention to the miss' privacy. Tell me, have you had breakfast or would you like to get cleaned up first? Perhaps a fresh change of clothes and a bath before you get caught up?”

 

 

Cerissa couldn't even wait that long, munching on an apple and leaning against the door frame in the hallway.

“You could at least get breakfast,” he called over the quiet splashing of water. “I'm not going to suddenly vanish because you tend to basic needs.”

“You could,” she provided, “Never know.”

“Cerissa, go. I'll be downstairs before you know it.”

She grumbled, but made her way back downstairs and into the dining hall just in time for one of the kitchen staff to come in carrying a plate of pastries to set on the table for grazing. The younger woman smiled at Cerissa, pointing out her favored blueberry scone, before vanishing back into the kitchen. Breakfast wasn't a huge ordeal in the manor, lunch often a much bigger meal that took a good portion of the afternoon. The workers of the house were used to Cerissa waking early and getting something small in her to stave off hunger before burying herself in work. If she knew she had a contract or hunting to attend to that day, she asked for something bigger and would bring some fruit along in case she got hungry but she doubted it was going to be one of those days.

Picking the scone from the platter and instead wandering out front while she waited, she surveyed the garden while she ate and had to admire the handiwork of the help Antony had gotten while she was away. While she missed spending as much time as she used to devote to weeding and pruning, there were several other things that more recently demanded her attention.

“Can't sit still for just ten minutes, can you?”

“When have you known me to be able to?”

“Stargazing and reading.”

“And I am doing neither of those things.” she smiled, finishing off her last bite before speaking again. “Think I found out the trouble you were warning me against.”

“Meaning you went into the tunnels.”

She shrugged, “Wasn’t alone if that's any comfort. But yes, I did.”

He sighed, “I'm guessing this is what you wanted my help with.”

“You read me too easily,” she feigned insult, puffing out her cheeks.

“You're too predictable sometimes. What did you manage to find?”

“Well,” she settled on one of the new stone benches, leaning forward to rest her arms on her knees. Her gaze grew absent, examining the stone walkway as she carefully chose her words. “First try not to be mad.”

“So you were reckless or impatient,” he crossed his arms against his chest, lifting an eyebrow at her.

She chose to ignore him, “There were three bodies, one likely killed by a blast that opened a grate leading to another tunnel. I didn't go down that path since I had Amriel with me,” she paused to explain. “Elven mage talented in illusions I hired as a spy,” she provided, and he nodded understanding, assuming the young elf he had seen the night he saved her was the same one. “I was following up on leads he had collected for me. There two young women, human, about my age, maybe older. Each had a patch of almost surgically removed flesh from their forearms, down to the bone. No other visible wounds.” She stopped herself and he sighed knowingly, settling on the bench next to her.

“So you did do something reckless.”

“I felt a presence pull at me near the second body. It felt like it wanted to tell me something, so I let myself go into a meditation-like trance. Whatever-it-was showed me the woman being tortured. I...was her, for lack of better words. I felt heavy, like someone had drugged her. There was a cloth over her face. But someone was talking. Couldn't make out what they were saying through the haze and couldn't tell if it was human or not. Burned the remains after breaking the trance, but my medallion didn't stop humming until we left the tunnels.”

“That could have been dangerous,” he noted after several minutes, “Just opening yourself and letting an unknown energy touch you like that.”

“I don't know how to describe it. It felt like it was trying to help, like it knew I was trying to figure out how and why its body died. I know it could have ended badly.” She shrugged, “Didn't know what else to do, though. And didn't want to go any further with Amriel if we ran into trouble since the tunnels run close to the witch hunter prison.”

“How long ago was this?”

“More than a week, less than two. What stumps me is the precision the flesh was removed with.”

“Human experimentation. Might be tied to the witch hunters. Might have to deal with the bruxa I saved you from too.”

“I don't follow.”

“I originally came on contract from a nearby town and in passing I felt what you were describing you felt in the tunnels. Granted, I couldn't place why this dark magical energy seemed to focus on this town until I learned one of the noble families was headed by a witcher. At the time my guess was you were the target of something, and you being attacked just outside your home only confirmed it. I assume there's magical wards set around the manor?”

Cerissa nodded, “And all the wrought iron on the grounds is actually iron-powder coated silver.”

“Clever. Would explain why it lingered just outside the gates and waited either for you to return or leave.”

“Doesn't explain how or why a bruxa would be here in the first place. Aren't lower vampires more of a hive mind and tend to be where there's higher vampires to provide some structure?”

He just let her answer her own question, and when her hands went to her mouth to cover a silent gasp he knew she pieced it together. “You're a threat. And you may have unknowingly made yourself a target by just happening to kill or talk to the wrong person.” He sighed, resting one hand in the small of her back. “Part of the reason I wanted to help you train, to make sure you could handle yourself if something happened. Part of the reason I wanted to get to leave with me is to test the theory of it focusing on the presence of a threat, in this case you. How long have you been home?”

“About a month.”

“Plenty of time to track you. And yet it lingers in a specific place not too close to the manor.”

“So maybe not a vampire?” There was a small glimmer of hope in her eyes.

He tried not to crush it. “Also the possibility that the witch hunters are involved. Up for a hunt tonight? Just you and me?”

She smirked, “Ah, the old romance of dark and damp.”

“You complained about wheat fields and catacombs so now we'll try tunnels. Something new.”

She laughed, sitting up enough to lean into his touch. “Can't just take me on a date like a normal man would a woman?”

“Don't lie and tell me you'd prefer an art exhibit or dinner over stalking monsters.”

“Maybe sometime I'd like to go on a horseback ride with someone I admire not in full armor,” she shrugged.

His laugh filled the garden, “Maybe another day. Work first.”

“You should meet Olwen at least.”  
  
“Olwen?”

“My new addition in the collection of oddities this manor is becoming. I, for lack of better wording, won her in a card game.” The blank stare from her companion made her laugh, “She lost pretty badly to the dwarven banker in town at a wedding I attended.”

“...So is she a slave or...?”

“Nope, not even a servant. Believe it or not, she's a witcher from the isles. Bear school.”

“You have a way of attracting interesting company.”

She gently elbowed him before getting up. “Look who's talking. Come on, I want you two to meet before we get too busy.”

 

 

“Olwen.” She was gently shaken awake, Cerissa's voice breaking through the fog of sleep. “Please wake up?”

Olwen blinked, sitting up with bleary eyes and stared blankly at her roommate for a moment before yawning. “What...is it?”

“Have someone I want you to meet.”

“Is it this fella I keep hearing Antony tease you about?” From the subtle set of Cerissa's jaw, she knew she was right. Olwen chuckled, tossing her hair. “Gimme a few moments, I'll be right with ya.”

Once Cerissa had left, Olwen tugged one of her tunics on after slowly crawling out of bed at a speed she knew would have otherwise bothered Cerissa. While her host seemed to have almost boundless energy in the morning, there were several long moments for Olwen in the morning where her mind would lazily fumble with the concept of being awake before clicking into alertness after some activity. She yawned again, tugging on a pair of pants and tucking the cuffs into the boots she tugged on.  
  
“Alright,” she tugged open her door, stretching her arms over her head and letting out another barely suppressed yawn. “Let's go meet this pup of yours.”  
  
She had to admit, the only other time she had seen Cerissa so animated was when playing Gwent with the banker for the card. There was a lightness in her steps that wasn't otherwise there and her eyes sparkled just so. Olwen had to wonder if she was aware she was wearing the faintest smile, her mouth turned upwards around the edges.

Cerissa had told her about the man who had somehow showed up at what seemed to be the last possible moment and saved her from a bruxa, rubbing the scar on her neck absently as she told the story. Olwen had wondered if it ached when looking back at the events though Cerissa insisted she didn't realize she was touching it until Olwen mentioned it to her. There was a deep admiration in her eyes whenever she spoke of the man, her smile growing warmer and the tension she carried in her shoulders easing the slightest.

Olwen could easily tell he was dear to her and she would admit there was something charming about it, like something out of one of her romance novels from Toussaint. A wandering knight saves a maiden in her time of need and they grow fond of each other, just this time it was over months of shared injuries and spilled blood and not deeds done in her name to earn her favor. They were comrades just as easily as they were lovers- if they would even call themselves that.

She heard the lilt of Amriel's voice and a rougher voice that sounded almost metallic, Amriel saying something about the stallion the other voice rode. He was joking about the name, saying that maybe all witchers were just terrible at naming their mounts.

“At least Moose has a story!” Amriel insisted, “Antony said he looked as large a moose the day Cerissa brought him home from market and it just stuck.”

“If you think Scorpion is terrible, I know a man who names every horse he owns Roach.”

“You're kidding,” Amriel stared, trying to smother a laugh.

“Sometimes I wish I was.”

One thing Olwen had to correct herself on was that he certainly wasn't a pup. Even when laughing there was an intense focus in his eyes. He listened intently to everything Amriel said, no matter how minuscule it seemed. When he looked from Amriel to her and Cerissa waiting at the top of the stairs, his smile was something that barely moved his lips but took the edge from his eyes. He was no stranger to hardship, being a witcher aside, yet Olwen had to admit she enjoyed the calm feeling that seemed to radiate from him. It was no small wonder Cerissa enjoyed his company so greatly.

“Olwen,” Cerissa practically beamed, “Meet Eskel.”

Olwen smirked, “You don't look half bad. Pleased to meet ya.”

He almost mimicked her smirk and in turn offered a shallow bow, “Pleasure's all mine.”

“I can tell out little miss means something to you,” she started thoughtfully, “And Ma always said it was about whether it made you loved or not. Well, that and if the sex is good, but she wasn't about to tell a six year old that. Glad to have ya here.” A light blush painted Cerissa's cheeks and Olwen let out a small chuckle. “No use gettin' flustered about it now. You didn't wake me up to meet someone you weren't sure of.”

Cerissa went to join Eskel, leaning into him when he put an arm around her waist. “No, don't think I would.”

“You're awfully comfortable with someone you do a lot of just thinkin' about,” Olwen huffed.

“He feels like home,” Cerissa admitted, noticing the small squeeze he gave her. That was something he wanted to talk about later. “Just wanted you to have a proper meeting and not just a random encounter.”

“Honored ya think me capable of proper, lass.” She yawned, stretching her arms over her head with a small yawn, “Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to track down some breakfast.” She brushed past Amriel who was seated on the bottom step and into the dining room. Amriel followed her after a moment, eyes shadowed from staying out too long the previous night. His footsteps dragged more than usual and Cerissa scowled.  
  
“Get some sleep, Amriel. You look half dead!”

He only waved over his shoulder at her to acknowledge he had heard her.

 

 

Forgoing their leather jackets, Olwen and Cerissa wandered the markets that afternoon in hopes of finding the fortune teller than Olwen had heard rumors of. Olwen gushed about how it reminded her of home and insisted that Cerissa join her, tearing her from her latest brew. A woman, so she had gathered, had set up shop in one of the abandoned buildings south of the market district. Accounts of what to look for varied from witness to witness and one older woman had only chuckled when Olwen asked for clarification.

“The Lady chooses who she reveals herself to.”

Olwen refused to accept that for answer, intent on finding the mysterious woman. Cerissa resigned herself to following after her, but was just about to suggest going back to the main market and starting in a new direction, a door near her creaked open.

_A heart troubled by love and grief unhealed in equal parts calls. It's touched by dark forces even it does not understand. Come, sit by my fire. There's much to speak of._

The voice called in something of a whisper but at the same time felt as though someone had been speaking directly into her ear. A chill spread over her skin but a warmth filled her chest. Olwen gasped quietly, going over to the door and peaking in.

“I reckon we found it,” she looked back at Cerissa, “Come on. Let's have a look.”

Cerissa shook her head. “Did you not hear that voice?”

“What voice? You startin' to lose yer marbles?”

“I...I think I'll sit this out, Olwen.”

“Yer not scared of a soothsayer now are ya?” She cocked an eyebrow, a devious grin coming to her lips.

“They all say the same thing,” she waved her hand dismissively, “You're surrounded by dark energy but protected by the love of your friends. Be careful where you step. You have a hard path in front of you, young witcher.” She waved her arms dramatically in the air in front of her, “Yet you have found love in an unexpected place. Then there will probably be something about healing scars and learning to trust others. Then something about loss or something else about love.”

“Learn to have some fun, will ya?” Olwen puffed her cheeks in annoyance.

“Blame Eskel, he probably rubbed off on me.”

“In more ways than one,” she grumbled, coming over to tug on Cerissa's arm, “Now come on, she's probably an old crone and can't hurt ya. Unless you really are scared.”

“I have no reason to be scared.”

“Don't know, but maybe she'll tell you something'll happen to your boyfriend. Or the kitchen staff will make breakfast wrong one day and the eggs will be dry. Or I'll become rich and retire in comfort for all my days and leave you for some charming man.”

“Did you forget Amriel hunted a bear for you so the pelt was fresh?”

“If you count that as romance? Maybe he just wants to shag me on it. Now come on,” she pulled again at Cerissa's arm. “New experiences and all that.”

“I'll have my new experiences here, there, and anywhere but right here.”

 

 

And yet, Cerissa found herself kneeling before a woman seated behind a table covered in scarves with grand patterns covering them. A fire gently crackled in the brick hearth behind her, and a steaming kettle sat nearby. Pillows of all sizes, shapes, and colors dotted the floor. The air was thick with incense and the two's medallions had started pulsing when they stepped foot into the room.

The woman had insisted they remove their shoes, and insisted that Olwen wait in another room while doing her predictions for Cerissa. The woman was in her forties at the latest, stray gray hairs dotting her otherwise blond hair. Not an especially beautiful or repulsive woman, she was dressed in a simple blue gown. She smiled at Cerissa and somehow it chilled her.

“A young heart, yes, aged by the path it walks. Not unkind...” she started, settling behind the table and closing her eyes. “Gold lines her path, yet stained with blood and soot. Swords sharp enough to cut the hardest hides, yet she hides. Deadly yet afraid. Careful, she has not spread her wings and not seen what she can do. Has come close, had felt the exhilaration of victory but never let her blood sing.” The woman paused, brow creasing. “Oh dear, I see a wolf, dark and scarred. A proud hunter, he shows the young griffin his belly.”

“That's Eskel and myself. I already know this,” Cerissa sighed, unimpressed. Anyone could use their school symbolism to describe them, she reasoned with herself. The griffin head around her neck was easy enough but doubt crept into her mind about how the woman knew of her lover.

The woman showed no sign of hearing her, voice sounding more like multiple voice as she continued. “Bloodied, he fights for her, can barely stand. The young griffin is chained, held down by a dark force. His strength is failing him...” Cerissa fought back the rising fear, thinking back on their plan to explore the tunnels that night. “Blackness. He calls out of her, howls like his soul demands it. But she does not hear him, she can't.”

“Ma'am, I don't-”

The woman shook her head, blinking then looking at Cerissa with horror on her face. “I'm so sorry, my dear. Hold him close while you can.”

“Why? What happens? Does-”

“Please,” she held out a hand to stop her, shaking her head sadly. “Please leave.”

 

 

“Cerissa?”

She snapped back to attention, making herself feel the wet, soft moss that coated the brick beneath her boot. She drew in a deep breath, focusing on the chill of the air in the tunnel and not the words that woman had said that afternoon. She was numb while putting on her armor for that night, fumbling with the buckles so badly he almost thought she was sick. Cerissa hadn't resisted when Eskel helped her fasten her vest and tighten her boot laces. She could see the concern darkening his eyes, but like always he respected her space and would wait for her to say something was bothering her. It was one of many things she adored but hated about him. He knew the tension in the air was uncomfortable enough and knew it would be that unease that made her speak.

“Is something wrong?”

She blinked, she hadn't even realized her dose of Cat had worn off what felt like long ago. Cerissa sighed wordlessly with a nod, reaching into her hip pouch for a small jar and taking a small amount of the white paste inside before downing another bottle of the dark liquid much as she had before.

“What's bothering you?” The question was barely above a whisper, and he held his ground when she tried to push past him with a huff. “Cerissa.”

“Superstition.”

“It's enough to make you absent since you came back from going out with Olwen.”

“Tell you later. Just,” she paused, “please be careful. More so than usual?”

Confusion flashed on his face but he nodded, accepting it as the only answer he would get for now.

The two had made their way up the the tunnel opened by the forced open grate. It had led to a fork, one taking each direction, and Cerissa only found a storeroom with a few alchemy ingredients in it. She guessed whoever caused the blast had picked it clean long before they got there. She retraced her steps, mind wandering now that she knew the path was clear, and went down the other path to catch up with Eskel. There were tearing sounds followed by wet splashes and she picked up her pace, already drawing igni with her fingers.

It was no small marvel to watch him fight, each step careful and each swing measured. Much more practiced than her, it was almost like watching someone dance. He was surprisingly graceful, simply side stepping away from a drowner and giving her enough of an opening to finish casting her sign, its skin erupting into flames with a screech. The slightest smirk tugged at his lips, bringing his sword around in a shallow arc and sheathing it again before the drowner's head had rolled from its shoulders. Cerissa kicked it along for a moment before picking her way over the dead carcasses of at least three others, pausing to see if their eyes or tongues were in good enough condition to be used in a brew.

“Always looking for ingredients,” he sighed.

“Always. Drowners aren't the most common in the city unless I go prowling by the port after a storm. Get it when I can find it,” she confirmed, grabbing the end of one's tongue and carefully cutting from the mouth with her knife. She wrapped it a scrap of fabric she had and tucked it away in her pouch. “So I didn't find anything,” she wiped her now slimey glove on her shoulder.

“Not much for me either other than my old favorites here.”

“So how about we go-”

A small explosion made them stop, the ground shaking and a few bricks from the ceiling tumbling down. She coughed on some dust coming from further up the tunnel.

“And there's our answer,” he paused long enough to make sure she was going to follow before hurrying down the now dusty corridor.

Pressed against the wall to listen around the corner, he held out an arm to catch her when she caught up. One finger pressed to his lips, she was struggling to hold back another cough when she heard voices. There had once been an entrance, now a collapsed pile of rubble. She wanted to say one good hit with aard and she could undo the blockage the explosion had caused.

“With the witcher, sir, is it wise to take so many?”

“She's a monster slayer, not a guard! Pay the freak enough and she'll look away.”

Both laughed at the idea. “Their neutrality will be the end of 'em all,” the first spoke again. She shifted restlessly and Eskel gripped her wrist.  
  
_Hold a little longer._

“But when the clerics find out...”

“They won't. Besides, what's a little extra coin in our pockets while the mortician does whatever he's doing. Good man, no one would think any less of him.”

“Any idea why he wants so many of those girls?”

The other voice spat, “And I can't say I care. All of them to be hung anyway...”

The voice trailed off as they made their way back from where they had come. Eskel tugged at her wrist, and she hadn't realized her fingers instinctively were tracing a shape in the air.

“Come on, no need to pick a fight tonight.”

“But they know what's going on.”

“Cerissa you know as well as I do no matter how skilled you are with signs you're not good enough to charm a whole room full of witch hunters at once.” She opened her mouth to protest and he shook his head, “I'm not willing to let you try, either. You'd most likely be killed before you managed four.”

“I could make them fight each other.”

“So that occupies the four you managed not to charm or stun.”

“You have no way of knowing how many there are-”

He cut her off. “And that's why we're not going to follow. You need to learn to not rush in before you know anything that could turn it in your favor, I thought I taught you better than to be hasty. Now, we know at least one of the morticians is involved and that the prisoners seems to be the ones being used in this.”

“Probably perfectly normal people they're accusing of witchcraft. I've seen them burn someone for defending me. Friends of freaks burn too, or something like that.”

“Good to know you manage to make friends everywhere you go.”

“Not the time, Eskel,” she scowled, but fought back a smile. “Let's at least get out of the sewers,” she grumbled, “The smell is making my stomach turn.”

“Right behind you.”

 

It was well past midnight by the time they returned to the manor, most of the lights put out though the the coals of a dying fire still burned in the grand fire place in the foyer. Cerissa sighed, taking her boots off at the door, and turned to Eskel.

“Another successful date, I guess.”

“You're bitter I didn't let you go after them.”

She clenched her jaw, “Not.”

“You really are a terrible liar.” She huffed, turning to go to her room, when he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “What’s bothering you?”

She ducked her shoulder out of his grip, to his dismay. “Pointless superstition,” she waved a hand dismissively. “It's nothing. Good-”

“Stop running.” The words were barely above a whisper but they were firm enough to give her pause. “You always run, always have to move. It's bothering you. You were numb all evening and weren't focused like you usually were.” She opened her mouth and he stopped her, “Don't say it's because you didn't have tea or meditate or what have you. It's not pointless to you.”

“Just leave me be.”

“No.”

“Eskel, please,” she almost whined.

“No. I'm not letting you withdraw or brood. That's not who or what you are.”

Her hands were visibly shaking. Cerissa forced herself to take a deep breath, releasing it and taking a moment before speaking in a voice that sounded strained, “Eskel, please, it's-”

“It’s not pointless because it worries you, so kindly stop lying to yourself for a minute.” He walked around her to stand in front of her, “What did the fortune teller say to you?” She looked away but he cupped her chin in his hand, making her look up at him. “Please tell me,” his voice was gentle but his eyes had the same intense gaze.

“She said...well, implied you would die trying to defend me from something.”

“I would.” There was no hesitation and it took her by surprise, all annoyance with him drained in an instant.

“You shouldn't.” She protested weakly.

“But I would,” he repeated. “That's not a premonition, it's a promise.”

“Eskel, no!” She swatted his hand away, annoyed at the tears that burned in her eyes. “If something happens to me, you shouldn't be willing to throw your life away for mine!”

He calmly tugged at the collar of his jacket and shirt enough so that a set of still angry red lines that ran along his left shoulder showed. “Remember how I got these?”

She set her jaw, voice defeated. “You tried to shield me from a griffin when I got knocked off my feet. Your casting of quen failed and it ripped right through to your shoulder.” She huffed, “See? I'm already putting you in danger you don't need to be in. And now we're talking about witch hunters or vampires coming after me?” She shook her head, “I've read enough of Olwen's romance novels to know where this is going.”

“I do this willingly, Cerissa.”

“But you shouldn't!”

“Would you have me watch the woman I love bleed out knowing I could have protected her?” His voice stayed even, that same grinding sound she was used to. It was getting difficult for to stay angry with him due to the way his eyes softened and he never once raised his voice at her even though she had repeatedly snapped. “Would you want me to leave someone I trust with my back in the field of battle knowing that she in turns trusts me with hers?”

“No, but-”

“That's what you're asking me to do.”

“I know, but-”

“And you know I never could do either of those things.”

“My life or yours, I want you to pick yours.”

“I can't make promises.”

“Eskel.”

“Cerissa.”

She snorted, breaking the eye contact, and brushed past him. He sighed, letting her go, and listened for the soft thudding of her closing her door down the hall. What he didn't expect as he paused at the top of the stairs was the muffled sound of crying from her room. He hesitated, debating with himself for a moment, before sighing and turning down her hallway instead.

She met him at the door, looking at him wordlessly for a moment before tugging at his arm. “Please stay with me tonight,” her voice was hoarse.

“If that's what you want.”

“Please.”

He sighed gently, putting an arm around her, “Come on, let's get you cleaned up.”

 

 

Almost a year and he still wasn't used to how relaxed she looked when she was asleep, how her hand would twitch at a grip or how she would mutter in her sleep. Head resting on his chest, she was practically laying on him. One arm holding her around her waist, the other hand stroked her hair gently.

“You don't realize how much you mean to me,” he murmured.

“Enough take a witcher from a different school trekking across the Northern Kingdoms so she doesn't get herself killed the next time she faces big game,” she answered, words slightly slurred. “Enough to take me to where you trained and trust me with painful memories. Enough to share embarrassing stories of the ones you trained with. Enough to-” she yawned and he chuckled when she blearily opened her eyes, turning her head to meet his gaze with an almost drunken smile. “Enough to stay.”

“And it's an honor you share your journey with me.”

She snorted, “Just little witcher who doesn't know better.”

“Cerissa, you can brew potions and decoctions I didn't even know existed.”

“Child's play.”

“A witcher is sometimes more than their skill with the blade. The fact you call the magic you work in your cauldrons and vials “child's play” is proof enough that you have mastery of things beyond your years. Give yourself some credit.” She raised an eyebrow at him but he smiled, “As I have told you before, you continue to find ways to amaze me. Now get some rest. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Eskel?”

“Hm?”  
  
“I love you too.”


	11. On Flames and Fury

Pressed against a wall with her eyes closed, Cerissa barely dared breathing as she listened to the men just beyond the door. They laughed amongst themselves, one voice painfully familiar. She strained to listen to it more closely, sounding low and more like gravel. Something insider her hated the sound of it, making her stomach twist and her hands ball into fists at her sides.

_A younger her was thrown to the ground as flames engulfed the building around her, yellow-green eyes glowing even brighter amidst the blaze. She glared at the man in the high-collared coat, memorizing his scarred face before he gripped a fistful of her hair and dragged her to her feet._

_She didn't scream, merely watched the life drain from the man she had come to see as a father. Heard the screams of the children who should have gone through the Trial in the coming months, saw their bruised but beaming faces as she lead them through their studies in her mind._

_It was the first time she tasted true hatred._

_Calm, breathe, Cerissa. You're too hasty. A witcher never rushes in_.

It was Fareal's voice that came to her mind, not Eskel's as it would have in the past few months. She did just that, drawing in a slow, noiseless breath and closing her eyes to focus on the discussion just beyond the door. There were at least four heartbeats that she could hear, men from the sound of their voices. One had a nervous tick, kicked at the ground when on edge. Another had a lisp but tried to hide it by talking quickly.

And the man she thought to be a leader cleared his throat and sniffled often, whether from a cold or the use of illicit substances she couldn't tell.

“Just burn the sodding mansion down, then. Don't care if you have to kill the whole lot of 'em to get the freaks!”

“That damned elf probably already knows what we're planning, has his sodding fingers in damned near everything.”

She could almost hear the grin split the lips one of the hunters, “Then cut his ears off so he can't hear us.”

“It's all that little whore's fault. If she and that pup had just stayed gone-”

“Now now,” the man with the gravely voice growled, “I wouldn't call the man a pup, gives him too much credit. He's just a common mutt, no different than the wench he shares a bed with.”

There was a laugh at that comment. Cerissa forced herself to take another deep breath, hand already reaching for a flash bomb in her hip pouch. They hadn't seen that pup, she thought with some small amount of amusement, bare his teeth or get backed into a corner and show his claws. They hadn't seen Amriel get mad and watched the fire in eyes come ablaze. And even she had no idea what Olwen was truly capable of but if she and Eskel's sparring matches in the gardens were anything to judge by, she certainly was not the fair maiden they no doubt saw her as.

_One._

Pushed herself against the door heavily, rolling in and throwing the bomb before anyone had time to react.

_Two._

Steel sword drawn, take off the arm of the guard to her right. Feign an attack on the one of the left, pirouette away then close the gap when he returned her swing and cleave his torso in two where the armor was weakest around his waist.

 _Three_.

Draw the sign for axii with her fingers, push it at the last one near her. He stared at her in wide eyed wonder for a moment, practically drooling, and she couldn't help the grin on her face. A clean cut sent his head tumbling to the floor.

A slow clap filled the room as she got to her feet, sword at the ready when she turned to face the last man. Sitting behind a desk littered with artifacts that sent her medallion humming, he smiled from beneath the brim of a wide leather hat. Slowly getting to his feet, his clapping came to a stop when he clasped his hand behind his back.

“Cerissa Lamonia,” he announced her name as if welcoming her to a grand affair, “Last known surviving member of the School of the Griffin. An honor to have you in my humble establishment after all these years.”

She glared, fingers already tracing another sign in the air.

“The same look you gave me when I killed that fool of a man you called your teacher,” he sighed happily, grinning as he reached for a sword on the weapon rack behind him. He slowly pulled the blade from the scabbard and turned back to face her. “And the same look you'll no doubt give me when I kill your lover.”

 

 

He should have stopped her the moment he felt her wiggle from his gentle grip. He could have stopped her while he listened to the metal clinking of her buckling her swords in place. There should have at least been some words of caution when she rummaged through his bags and took a few of his bombs, no doubt not wanting to waste the time digging through her study looking for her own.

Truth was, she wouldn't have listened to him even if he had tried.

And he had to give her room to grow.

Eskel knew the moment he made her walk away from that collapsed entrance that she would make her way back to it when she thought he wasn't paying attention and fight her way through whatever forces she found on the other side. With a sigh, he sat up knowing sleep would elude him for the time being. Her favored blue tunic and leather vest gone from where she had thrown them over the back of the chair at her vanity, her soot splotched goggles took up residence where vials of her freshly made potions had once been.

Barely past midnight, she had waited less than two hours for when he would, under normal circumstances, been fast asleep. He would give her credit where it was due, Cerissa had certainly made her own plan and followed through with it without waiting for approval.

“Well,” he sighed, one hand coming up to rub absently at his facial scar. “Let's just see how well the little griffin flies.”

 

 

A suppressed scream when the man's sword nicked her shoulder, tearing through the thin fabric of her tunic when she barely managed to block in time. Grunting with the effort of pushing him back, she broke the sword lock and managed to roll away and get back to her feet before he came back to a ready position. A quick tracing of aard and she sent him tumbling back a few steps, rushing forward to press her advantage and land a clean hit that arced across his chest. Tearing through the leather he wore, blood blossomed to the surface and he cursed her before trying to bring the pommel of his sword around to strike her in the head.

She gritted her teeth, bringing an arm up, she pushed the sword away with her forearm and used the opening to drop her sword and instead draw her hunting knife. Not nearly as sharp, it still pierced through the leather and faithfully embedded itself between two of the man's ribs.

He gargled on a mouthful of blood, stumbling backwards as she scooped up her sword and hurried forward to meet him. One pirouette to gather momentum later, she stood covered in his blood over his headless body with the most twisted smile on her face she could manage. She spat, cursing his name, and sheathed her sword before dislodging her dagger from between his ribs and replacing it on her belt.

She took only a moment to check the contents of his pockets before an alarm was sounded, a heavy bell that easily cut through the night air ringing outside. Cursing, Cerissa instead cut his pouch from his belt and shoved it into her own before hastily dowsing the room in oil. Lazily casting a few embers of igni on it, she hurried down the stairs and wished she could have savored the blaze that nipped at her heels before she slipped back into the tunnels.

Pausing to make sure the entrance she had used was closed with a blast of aard, she didn't even bother with the drowners that pursued her as she clung to the shadows and made her way home.

 

 

“Was it worth it?”

Cerissa was bent over the content's of the witch hunter's pouch, her magnifying glass usually reserved for picking apart fibers perched over the crumpled parchment so she could better read it. She snorted absently at the soft creak of her study's doors, not having to look up to place the nearly metallic voice that followed. A small fire burned in her hearth, a pot of almost colorless liquid bubbling away. She had hastily put her swords aside, the steel one out on a stand and in desperate need of cleaning to get rid of the red that stained it.

“Hardly, only had a handful of bizants on him and nothing of worth I could sell.”

“Cerissa.”

“Spare me the lecture, Eskel.”

He cocked an eyebrow, “Lecture?”

“This is the point you tell me I was reckless and could have at least warned you.”

“I knew the moment I stopped you from casting what you were going to do.”

“Then why did you even stop me in the first place?”

“Because you didn't a have plan.”

“I didn't have a plan this time beyond retrace our steps then strike fast and hard.” She sighed, setting the notes aside. “An attack on the manor is planned. Keep your guard up.”

“The leader you killed, you had a past with him.”

She nodded wordlessly, turning on her stool to face her pot. Pulling a set of goggles down from her hairline, she gave the brew a stir. “Mandrake cordial, cherry cordial, arenaria flowers-”

“And Redanian herbal.” He finished knowingly, the list of ingredients all too familiar.

“You said once it was a remedy for pleasant dreams*,” she snuffed the fire gently so that the flames died down but the embers still glowed, placing the lid over the pot. “That sits until the coals cool then I chill it and-”

“Made it a few times before?”

She shook her head, “Once, still have the dregs of that attempt. Fareal would make it, though, and he gifted me transcriptions of many of his recipes when I succeeded with my first solo contract. I remember his had an oddly bitter-sweet flavor and was almost a syrup that coated the tongue and teeth.” Her expression softened, “So I came to associate it with that pleasant floating feeling when meditation wouldn't calm me.”

“We usually diluted it with another spirit at least.”

“I think he gave it to me to stop the nightmares for the first year after I underwent the Trial of Grasses. Never remembered my dreams after I took it, I just remember waking up feeling lighter.” She paused, pushing up her goggles and turning to look at him. “Remember the night we shared a diluted version?”

“You couldn't stop smiling,” he smiled, settling in her armchair.

“You said I was the most beautiful dame you'd ever met,” she smirked, teasing. “Told me so many times how pretty I was.”

“I'd say it-”

“Even without being drunk? And you say I’m predictable.” She shook her head, returning to the previous topic. “They paid off some peasant in a town nearby to tell them where the fortress was. The hunters came and burned it to the ground. And that bastard made me watch as Fareal bled out while he-.”

“So revenge made you go back,” he gently stopped her, already knowing the ending to her sentence.

“Justice for the young ones that called me their auntie when I told them about necrophages and stuck out their tongue when I hit their feet into better alignment because their placement was messy.” She took a small sip from a rough metal cup that had been sitting on her desk. “Old batch.”

He stayed quiet, waiting to see if she would finish her thoughts. She measured his expression carefully then sighed and swirled the liquid in her cup thoughtfully.

“Other than...other than the number of witchers in the world being less than desirable, why did you help me?”

“I had no idea you were one until-”

“Not killing the bruxa,” she shook her head, stopping him gently. “That's what we do. I meant why did you stay afterwards and offer to help me? You could have left me to continue on the Path alone.”

“The way Antony spoke about you, the way you treated this place like a fortress and not a home, the small jobs you took that made you more into a common mercenary. You weren't alive, just drawing breath. You had given up.”

“Sympathy for a stranger?”

“Empathy,” he corrected her. “Antony told me about how you almost didn't speak that first year after you came back to the manor. Or how you spent most of your time locked away. Or buried in contracts that left you even more frustrated than before.”

“It was a dark year for me,” she muttered, taking another sip of her drink.

“It didn't get any better.”

“Save me from myself then, eh?”

“Just show you there's more than these city walls,” he shook his head.

“And when did you realize you got more than you bargained for?”

“When you used axii to slip past the guards at that-”

“No,” her expression softened. “When did you realize you wanted me around?”

He thought for a moment. “The first time I heard you truly laugh. You were playing Gwent in an inn and won so easily I could see the delight in your eyes from across the room. You looked up from the cards and met my gaze, then smiled.”

She sighed, setting her cup on the desk then picking her way over her mess to where he sat. One hand pushing his shoulder against the back of the chair, she slipped into his lap so she was straddling his legs. He smirked, seeing the unspoken challenge in her eye.

“Smitten from me winning a card game?”

He kissed at her neck where she had undone the buckles of her leather vest and loosened the ties on her tunic, one hand tracing lazy circles on the back of her thigh.

“Shh,” he shushed her.

She laughed, the sound filling the room, and traced the scar on his lip with her thumb. “Warning you, I don't have horns.”

His laugh was much softer, a puff of warm air against her skin before turning his head enough to catch her thumb between his teeth. Then his eyes met hers, those same golden eyes that always gave her pause, catching the light from the candles around them so they seemed to glow. She tugged her hand free before he laughed again.

“Shush,” she snorted, once again tracing his scar.

Cerissa smiled after a moment, kissing the space below his eye gently. She paused before following his scar all the way down to his lips, stopping just short of kissing him. Eskel groaned, hand gripping her thigh, and kissed her instead.

“And no, little griffin,” he planted a trail of kisses to the thin scar that ran along her jaw. “I'm smitten,” he traced along the scar, “by the witcher you've become.” He wandered to the bite scar left by the bruxa. He felt her shudder, jerking away from the contact, and he braced her with a hand between her shoulders so she didn't fall backwards. “Too far?”

Cerissa shook her head, one hand going to the scar and gripping it. “Just...”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No!” She nearly shouted, but Cerissa stopped and lowered her voice back to barely above a whisper. “I'm sorry, Eskel, I just-” she stopped herself.

“I won't touch it again. Still too fresh for you.”

She smiled, nodding, for once grateful that he often could fill in the blanks when words failed her. “Thank you.”

His expression softened, taking his hand from her back and instead stroking her cheek gently. “Did you want to-”

He'll admit, she surprised him by roughly grabbing the chain of his medallion and yanking him closer to kiss him somewhat forcefully. He couldn't help the small shudder when she broke away, dragging her teeth on his bottom lip.

She smirked, her laugh at the surprise in his eyes barely more than a warm puff of air, “Yes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This is a direct nod to the books where when explaining Ciri's odd abilities, the witchers give Triss White Gull. When she asks what it is, Eskel responds "A remedy for pleasant dreams."


	12. A Passion Play

“For once, you're up before the miss,” Amriel nearly smirked when he stalked into the dining room that morning, Olwen bent over some book she had picked up in town the night before.

“And who said I ever went to sleep?” She blinked up at him, scowling when he pulled back the curtains to let the morning sunlight in.

“Would be surprised if she got any sleep, to be honest, after the night she had.”

Olwen looked up from her book, brow knitting together and squinting at him before her eyes went wide in understanding. A small blush lit her cheeks at the grin that adorned Amriel's face, hurriedly looking back down at her book. “They're both consenting adults.”

There was a soft yawn when Cerissa finally joined them, the collar of a shirt a size or two too big for her drooping to show a thin line of red marks just above her necklace chain. What amused Amriel wasn't the marks on her skin, but the animal head medallion she was wearing. Cerissa showed no notice of what he guessed was a mix up, pausing to read a passage over Olwen's shoulder while reaching over her to grab a pear from the fruit bowl on the table.

Olwen scowled when Cerissa leaned over her, but a mischievous grin graced her lips and reached up to tug at the wolf head around her friend's neck. “Last time I checked, lass, you're a griffin.”

Cerissa shrugged. “He can reclaim it when he wakes up. Until then, it's my trophy.”

Olwen laughed, releasing her grip. “Didn't know you had it in you! Good on you, lass.”

Cerissa decided to let the topic go, unceremoniously settling in one of the chairs already pulled out. “Witch hunters are planning something,” she grumbled.

Amriel snorted, “Big surprise, when are they not? What is it this time? Burning all the women with warts on their faces?”

Olwen rolled her eyes, “Now ya know they only do that in Novigrad, Amriel.”

“Not so,” Cerissa agreed, “Funeral pyres and burnings are more common in Hierarch Square, but they've had a few here. But no, Amriel, I'm speaking about something a little more close to home.”

“Wanna cut the crap and tell us what ya know, lass?”

“The local leader, Kazmer, and I have always been at odds. I had Amriel look into a few things for me from before I left to train with Eskel, and it led us to the basement of the witch hunter lair.”

“Did this have anything to do with the bells just after midnight?” Amriel yawned. Olwen chuckled quietly to herself.

Cerissa paused, but nodded. “Took some of Kazmer's things and-”

“No no no,” Olwen sighed, sitting up straight and pushing her book away from her. “You're skippin' the good part, lass. They wouldn't have sounded the bells over you just walkin' in and stealin' a few things. Now tell me, did ya kill the bastard?”

“And burned his office,” she admitted quietly.

“Now that's what I want to hear! You go with your pup or-”

“Just me.”

There was an edge to Cerissa's voice that gave Olwen a moment of pause, telling her she had overstepped an unseen boundary. Amriel shifted nervously in his seat, knowing Cerissa had quietly tolerated the teasing over how she preferred to work as a pair with Eskel on things she thought beyond her ability level. But from the look in her eyes, it was more than just one taunting comment too far. Olwen eventually cleared her throat and broke the silent stare down between the two, quickly regaining her almost trademark smirk when she looked away.

“Go on, Cerissa,” Amriel prompted after a few tense moments.

“Found evidence of a plot against us, well, mainly me. Rumors of a bounty at least for Amriel and myself, then plans of the manor's layout.”

“Didn't I-”

“Ward the house? Against monsters, Amriel, not humans. Unless you know some spell I don't know of to keep everything and everyone out as well.” He shook his head, “No idea what and when since it was only one or two pieces of paper and, well, being rash I burned his office.”

“...May I ask why, lass?” Olwen spoke up quietly.

“Revenge,” she shrugged, “Long reason cut short is he's the reason I think I'm the only griffin school witcher left.”

Olwen only nodded, and Amriel sighed. Her study was filled with all her notes and contract notices she had taken in hopes to get herself closer to finding the man that had destroyed the only place she felt like she belonged. Swords she would never use and scraps of paper had a place of honor among her trophies and books, a designated journal detailing every wrong turn and lead she could get her hands on that she kept tucked in her desk under a medallion that looked stunningly similar to her own. Whenever he asked, she would say nothing or abruptly change the topic. Depending on her mood, it would sometimes get him ushered out of her study without a word.

There was a pause before Eskel joined them wordlessly, walking over to Cerissa and gently undoing the clasp of his necklace from behind. A soft grin played across her lips as he slipped hers over her head in place of it, planting a light kiss on the top of her head before putting his own back on. He muttered something to her neither of the other two could hear that made her smother a small laugh before Antony rushed into the room.

“Madam!” He was breathless, eyes wide. “The witch hunters are here.”

 

 

Cerissa stood at the gates feeling like she was anything but ready, Kazmer's lieutenant glaring as she stood with her head held high. Amriel had gotten up immediately after Antony's entrance, shepherding the staff into one of the tunnels that ran below the manor. Antony had protested, but it was only after Cerissa's begging that he went with the rest of the staff. Eskel had elected to see to it the staff made it through the tunnels safely in case there was anything lingering in them, though Amriel suggested he stay with Cerissa. She had been the one to say no and insist it was better he wasn't there.

Olwen huffed at her side, sword already drawn. “Not too late,” she muttered, “Can go catch him.”

“Don't need fangs right now,” Cerissa shook her head the slightest bit.

Dressed simply in a tunic and leather pants with her steel sword, still smudged with Kazmer's blood, she knew any fight that followed would be practically suicide for her. The lieutenant was flanked by three more hunters, and from the sound of the clicking coming from the roofs, there were at least two more in waiting that she could not see.

Hands held in front of her to show she had no weapon drawn, Cerissa stepped forward. “I assume you've come for me.”

“Cut the shit, whore, you know what you did.”

“That man had the blood of at least four children on his hands,” She shrugged.

“That you and your whoreson master were going to going to make into freaks like you! Don't play innocent! You pox ridden mutants only care for yourselves!”

“And yet that's why I kill the monsters that drag away mothers and kill traders with carts smelling of meats.”

The lieutenant stepped forward suddenly, smacking her with the back of his hand across her face. Cerissa stayed her ground even when Olwen took a step forward, shaking her head. Her fingers twitched, bring her hand in front of her and letting loose a spray of sparks that made the hunters take several steps back.

“Now, Olwen!”

Olwen rushed forward, easily cutting open the chest of one of the hunters, then turned and in the next instant had another nearly sliced in half across the hip. The lieutenant shouted in anger as soon as the sparks hit his skin, frantically trying to pat them out when a fist met his face. He tumbled backwards as Olwen had the last hunter on the ground, sword held to throat with a grin on her face.

The man glared at Cerissa, then brought a foot around to try and trip her. She easily stepped backwards, with something of a small hop and drew her sword with a flourish. He chuckled and got to his feet, wiping his hands on his pants before drawing his own sword.

“I see your dog has-”

“That man is more respectable than you ever will be,” she hissed, bringing her sword up to ready position.

“And no armor, little miss?” There was the clicking of crossbows, one to her right and one behind her to the back. The lieutenant smirked, “Check mate.”

There was a roaring sound, the air around her crackling for an instant before she dropped into a roll and pushed herself backwards. An array formed around the hunter that made the stone glow for only a few seconds before it erupted into a small column of flame, Olwen managing to tumble out of the way just in time.

“Oi, Amriel, you almost hit me!”

“Sorry! Still working on that one!” The elf hurried through the front gates, coming to stand beside Cerissa. “Regards from Eskel,” he panted, visibly winded. “Everyone's safe. He got a nick from a drowner in the tunnels but is okay. Sent me to look after you two.”

“And elf and a mage? Now-”

Cerissa ignored him, “Amriel, think you can take care of the archers?”

He nodded, “Count them as dead.” Taking a deep breath and reaching a hand in front of him, he muttered something in a dialect of Elder Speech she couldn't fully translate.

There were coughing sounds in the next few moments, then the thudding of the weapons hitting the stone ground. Cerissa blinked, eyes going wide for a moment, and managed to make eye contact with one of the archers. Face reddened and lips turning pale blue, their eyes were very nearly rolling back in their heads. Olwen visibly grimaced as the veins bulged on their necks, spreading thin red lines through their faces that looked as though they were going to burst at any moment. Amriel turned his hand to cup a visible ball of dark energy that spread a smoke like pattern down his arm, eyes closed with a focus that almost made him tremble from the effort.

“I've been working on this one for awhile,” he provided in a voice that sounded like it was made of many, filling the square in front of the manor.

Cerissa felt chilled, feeling the air in the courtyard rush past her and pull towards Amriel. It swirled at his feet as he focused his magic, now pulling the lieutenant into the spell. Drool ran from the corner of his mouth, dropping his sword when he fell to his knees gagging. Amriel despite himself laughed, and when he was sure he had gathered enough energy, squeezed his hand so suddenly that the ball of energy in his hand shattered.

All three remaining hunters dropped to the ground like rag dolls.

He released the spell with a soft exhale, the air in the courtyard finally feeling normal again. Olwen joined the two, sheathing her sword, and reached out a hand to catch Amriel when he staggered after opening his eyes.

“When did you learn that one?”

“Used it,” he managed, forcing himself to take a deep breath and not bothering to hide that he was leaning on Olwen to stay upright. He was lightheaded, feeling like his breaths were caught in his chest. “Used it in the...”

“Hush, I got ya. Just rest. You did well.”

Cerissa nodded, “I'll gather up the bodies and probably burn them out back. Olwen-”

Olwen sighed, scooping Amriel up with something of a snort when he struggled against her. “One step ahead of you. Want me to find Eskel and send him your way?”

“Please.”

 

 

Cerissa sat on the lower step in the back of the manor, watching the pyre she built send plumes of black smoke into the sky. She sipped at a diluted version of White Gull from a glass cup, scowling because her most recent batch still didn't have the right flavor. It felt like the entire day already passed, the Sun blotted out by the smoke. Certainly everyone in town had heard of what she had done. Certainly she was no longer seen as the protector. She cursed, shaking her head. The corpses laid out of over the wood were long charred black, their pockets picked clean before being set ablaze.

“I wouldn't recommend drinking right now,” Eskel tsked her, the back door clicking shut before he came to sit next to her.

“I keep fucking everything up,” she sighed, taking his advice and setting the glass aside.

“How?” She shook her head, eyes still focused on the now dying blaze in front of her. “Cerissa.”

“Please don't push right now. We'll talk later. Just right now,” she gripped one of his hands and let her words trail off. There was moment of silence before she looked away from the flames to measure his expression. “You were worried.”

“I trained you for a time, I know what you're capable of.”

“Doesn't mean you can't be worried.”

He squeezed her hand in response, deciding it was best to change the subject. “So I hear from Antony you're a fan of Wolf's.”

“Geralt? I mean, I'm a fan of the ballads about him, at least. Have his Gwent card I won at the wedding. I just-”

Eskel couldn't help the smirk that came to his lips, “The things I could tell you about him.” He laughed softly to himself.

“You know him?!”

“We basically grew up together!” He laughed, “We're about the same age.” He spared her a sideways glance, shaking his head in disbelief at the look of wonder in her eyes. “You know half of those stories are exaggerated, right?”

“They wouldn't be good ballads if they weren't.”

“Well then," he grinned with a laugh, "let me tell you a story of my own about our White Wolf...”

 


	13. On Masks and Missteps

Hating the warmth of mask she wore, Cerissa clung to the shadows of the ballroom and watched the flourishes of color from the dancers on the floor. A group of minstrels played a lively tune that had most of the drunker guests enjoying themselves. Shortly after arriving, she had greeted the host of the party and then done a sweep of the area open to guests. Cerissa had made a small mental map of the first floor and the garden, marking where doors could easily be opened or guards could be slipped past.

She was here on invitation for appearances only, announced at the door like any other noblewoman. “Marchioness Cerissa Lamonia,” the page had called out, “Witcher of the Griffin School. Accompanying her, Eskel of the Wolf School of Kaedwin.”

The whispers that spread over the crowd at the combination of title and vocation almost made it impossible for her to hold back a grin. After greeting the local lord who was hosting the party at the behest of the contractor with a deep bow, Cerissa had blended into the crowd easily. Eskel had made himself scarce almost immediately, kissing the back of her shoulder before seemingly vanishing. Searching the crowd, she found Amriel near the doors to the gardens and Olwen was already luring several of the attending knights into thinking they could win in drinking games against her.

Wearing the same gown as she did at the wedding, her hair had been pinned back with several glittering pins. She had chosen a silver mask that almost looked like a bird, fragile feather-like tendrils laying against her hair. Honestly, she did not understand the point of wearing a mask if she was going to be announced any way, but she doubted many were even paying attention to the announcements regardless- too involved in their own doings.

“No sign of trouble yet,” Amriel reported when Cerissa came to join him, squinting as she looked out over the crowd. He had chosen to hide his face behind a white porcelain mask that resembled a weasel.

“Any sign of Eskel?”

Amriel sighed, “Haven't seen him for a little while. Calm down, he was right behind you when you walked in.”

Cerissa only nodded, already feeling like something was wrong. “Too many perfumes- I can't tell if there's any out of the ordinary. And too much talking to hear clearly. Give me a quick sweep of the perimeter and come back to me. I'll be in the main ballroom.”

Amriel nodded and she felt the small pop of magic when he vanished in a plume of what looked like ash.

 

Amriel was back to her in less than a half hour, eyes troubled even under the mask. He hurried through the crowd, coming to meet Cerissa where she sat in one of the armchairs in the antechamber. “Side salon on the first floor just past the entrance. There's been a murder. He tells me it looks like a vampire attack. He says to come alone and try to make sure you aren't followed.”

 

Cerissa listened carefully to the footsteps around her as she made her way through the swath of people, giving everyone a wide birth. One of the guards of the count were already in place when she arrived, nodding in ascent as they allowed her through.

“Lady Lamonia.”

She ducked under the silk scarf that served as a barrier, and scrunched her nose up at the suddenly overwhelming smell of blood that filled the room once she was far enough away from the crowd. A hand stuck out from under a white sheet in the middle of the room, the form of a woman visible beneath its weight.

“I'm guessing you already inspected the body,” she provided in way of greeting, coming to stand beside Eskel where he knelt.

Dressed in a dark, studded leather vest over a tunic similar in color to her dress, the majority of his face was hidden behind a mask with curled horns that resembled those of a goat's in a dusty bronze color. He turned to look at her, scowling, and lifted the corner of the sheet up for her to look at. A young woman, a merchant's wife, with a raw red circle on her neck. The front of her brilliant emerald dress was darkened with blood.

“Just like the body I saw in the square the day I was attacked by the bruxa,” she sighed, “So we _are_ dealing with a higher vampire. Shit.”

“Not always the ones you think about,” he shook his head, laying the sheet back down. “Could be a katakan.”

“Still have a fight on our hands either way. Can't exactly go off of the description that they love jewelry when we're surrounded by people trying to show off their wealth.” She sighed, “Sorry, got overwhelmed. First time back at court since the Trials.”

“Easy to do,” he shrugged off her apology easily, standing and peering over his shoulder at the guards who were watching the two with suspicion in their eyes.

“You always were the better tracker. Tell me, that day we met- what was the contract you took?”

“Drowners in the wharf. Why?”

She shook her head, “I just remember one of the guardsmen saying something about bodies piling up.”

“There was the one before the one you saw, yes,” he nodded, “But there was no contract out for the bruxa at the time.”

“I have a suspicion...” she glanced over her shoulder, scowling. “Not here with the audience. Find Olwen and I'll get Amriel. We'll meet by the fountain in the garden. No one will bother us out there.”

“Fine. And Cerissa?” He took her hand in her his, gently kissing the back of her knuckles. “Please don't be reckless tonight.”

 

 

“The day I met we two first crossed paths there was an almost oppressive energy on the main street near the mayor's office,” Cerissa explained once they had all gathered, sitting on the edge of the fountain. “It seemed almost focused on his office and the trail started from there.”

Amriel puffed his cheeks slightly in annoyance, “And you didn't say anything about that sausage possibly harboring dark magic until now why?”

“Because he had her in his back pocket,” Olwen provided, rolling her shoulders. She was dressed in a brilliant scarlet gown with elaborate beading up the back of the bodice, concealing the top half of her face with the mask of a doe.

Eskel ignored them both, instead pretending not to focus on the small group of women that was gathered nearby. They were huddled around a stone table, each with a goblet of wine in their hands, and giggling amongst themselves in hurried voices. His eyes narrowed when one leaned to whisper to another then glanced in his direction.

“You are an attractive man, hon,” Cerissa provided, following his gaze, and shaking her head.

“They followed us out here,” he grumbled, more thinking aloud.

“They're the duke's servants,” she waved him off, “Never too far from interesting guests.”

“And surely listening to every word they say.”

Amriel huffed, making sure to keep his voice down. “While he seems to think a vampire would choose to disguise themselves among a gaggle of giggling maidens, I'm going to try and follow up on Cerissa's suggestion.” He stretched his hands over his head before getting up from the low planter wall he had been sitting on. He paused for a moment to allow any protests before making his way back to the main part of the mansion.

“Guess I should be gettin' back soon,” Olwen huffed, “As should you, little miss. Wouldn't want you losing too much approval from your people*.”

“Yeah,” Cerissa conceded, nodding. “Be there in a moment.”

“Suit yourself,” Olwen shrugged, picking up her pace to catch up with Amriel.

“From here on, consider everyone an enemy,” Eskel warned in a low voice, still watching the trio of masked women carefully. “Even if it's me. At least until we know what form it's taking.”

“I'll be okay,” she promised.

He scowled, “I've done this before- a katakan at a party and the murder mystery surrounding it. Needless to say, it took a month of tracking the damned thing beforehand and even then I had the misfortune of it being an older one,” he sighed.

“So ask questions to verify who someone is before saying anything?”

“Still might not be enough, but yes. And please don't go looking for trouble.”

 

 

Cerissa would be one of the first to admit she was never very good at following directions. Instead of staying in the ballroom or wandering the common spaces looking for clues, she had found her way into the study of the duke. Amriel certainly had not been the voice of reason, instead helping her undo the magical seal that had been placed on the door. Cerissa had questioned Amriel on a story Eskel had once told her of when he and his school mates had gotten drunk together when the two were still traveling, knowing he wouldn't know the answer and was satisfied with the confused look that had graced his face in response.

“Suspicious a duke would seal a door,” Amriel grumbled, pressed against the wall and fingertips glowing as he tried to break the spell.

Cerissa shrugged, “He's hosting the ball at the insistence of the contract issuer, he no doubt knows this could end badly.”

“It's a study.”

“And my manor is warded.”

“You're a witcher! You make enemies!” Amriel hissed, “Any sign of anyone?”

“Silent, only the faint music from the ballroom. A duke could have just as many enemies, seeing as he's in line for the throne.”

Amriel sighed, his way of admitting she was right, and grinned in satisfaction when the faint glow of the lock dissipated in his fingers. “Got it, c'mon.”

Inside it looked more like a library, rows of bookshelves that nearly stood floor to ceiling. A few stuffed animal heads hung from the walls and a heavy wooden desk took up residence in a corner near a fireplace where coals still glowed faintly.

“Odd...” There was the lingering smell of citrus and honey that hung in the air as soon as she stepped into the room, and Cerissa ignored the shelves of books as she made her way over to the desk. Covered in papers that were seemingly blank, the sharp smell of lemon burned at her nose so badly she sneered. An open jar sat next to an open inkwell that had been filled with a clear liquid, a fountain pen laying nearby where it had hastily been discarded.

Casting igni to reignite the fire, she scooped up one of the papers and crouched to hold it over the flame.

“What are you-?”

“Wait.”

It took a few moments, but brown lettering started to appear on the paper. Amriel cocked an eyebrow, “Heat sensitive ink?”

“Lemon juice and a pen,” Cerissa provided. “The lemon juice reacts with the paper when heated.” She waited a few more moments before quickly snuffing out her fire. “Man in blue,” she read aloud, “knows no limits.”

“That just about describes every fat prick here,” Amriel huffed, crossing his arms against his chest.

“And we don't even know if it has anything to do with the murders,” Cerissa sighed, folding the paper and handing it to Amriel to hold onto. “Let's get back to the ballroom.”

“Hoping for a dance?” He teased her as he followed behind her, tucking the paper away in his vest pocket.

“Hoping not to get caught here and arrested for trespassing,” she very nearly snorted, then paused. “You did manage to smuggle in everything, right?”

“You looking for this?” Amriel produced her medallion out of seemingly nowhere, dangling it on an outstretched finger with a smirk.

Cerissa hesitated, fingers twitching at her sides, but didn't reach for the silver pendant. “You, Olwen, and Eskel have to be my eyes and ears tonight,” she shook her head and brushed past him, making him blink and stare at her with wide eyes.

In the time he had known her, this night was the only time he had seen her without her necklace, or one in general, on. Amriel sighed, knowing she had to feel like something was missing without it, but knowing full well that here she was a lady of the court and not a witcher. It mattered not that her every movement was careful and measured or that her skin was unnaturally pale. The other nobles could even forgive the cat-like eyes that peered from behind her gilded mask or her scars, but they wouldn't forgive something as obvious as the griffin head that normally sat heavily on her chest.

It was a game to them, a passing amusement, and Amriel felt a strange tinge of pity as he followed her back down the hallway. She didn't feel like she belonged in either world, this he knew, and she watched the swirling dresses on the dance floor from a balcony with yearning in her eyes. Yet she could hear every conversation in the room, tell which flower was in whose perfume. She carried a silver dagger in a thigh holster under her skirt, and then would bat her eyelashes and fan herself at just the right moments when approached by another party goer. She was witcher, she used the title more proudly than her noble honorifics, and yet she was being forced to pretend she wasn't.

Cerissa was the obvious outcast at court, and every masked face felt like its smile was taunting her.

“I'll be in the gardens if you need me, My Lady vatt'ghern,” Amriel offered a soft bow for appearances sake, taking note of the small smile that peaked out from under her mask at his use of Elder Speech. “Olwen's in the main ball room.”

“Thank you,” she muttered, not taking her eyes off the crowd below.

 

 

Slipping back into the duke's study alone, Cerissa slowly walked the rows of bookshelves. This was the only place she could focus clearly, and something kept pulling her back to this room. She had already checked every piece of paper on the desk for more messages and every piece turned up blank. She had rifled through the drawers and dumped the contents out on top of the desk, only to be disappointed when most of it was stationary or obviously non-coded messages about business matters.

And yet it felt like there was still something here to be found.

Cerissa paid attention to the gentle tugging of her diaphragm with each breath, and listened carefully to each beat of her slowed heart in an effort to center herself. Had she said it aloud to anyone else, she was sure they would have stared at her, but there was still something here. There had to be. There was no other way the proverbial whisper in the back of her mind was so insistent.

Then she paused, looking at a book that she had seen so many times in other places at other times. And yet, she tugged the book from the shelves and let it tumble open into her hand.

 _Garden fountain. 2._ Was all a scrap of paper read, sticking out as if it had been used as a bookmark.

No distinguishing smell, no stains. Parchment made of animal skin. The ink made from tannins of wood, dyed with cobalt. Barely pausing to push the book back into place, Cerissa gathered up her skirt and hurried back down the hallway to the antechamber, not caring her heeled footsteps were entirely too loud on the marble floor.

“Excuse me,” she muttered, shouldering her way through the crowd in the antechamber heading to the garden, purposefully trying to take another route to avoid Amriel.

Making her way through the hedge maze and glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one had been following her, the air around her became a dizzying mix of the smell from the blossoming flowers and blood. She braced herself, pulling up the edge of her skirt and drawing her knife, before rounding the hedge that led to the fountain.

A few party goers were gathered nearby, muttering behind feathered fans. It was one of the guards whom had sequestered off the room where the first body was found, his neck mangled. Cerissa tried to ignore the gazes from the crowd as she knelt next to the body. Cold, almost unnaturally. Lips cracked. The fear still lingered in his dead eyes, brighter than they should have been against his now whitened skin. She cursed to herself- he had been drained of all blood.

Cerissa forced herself to stop, to take a deep breath. The flower smell she knew, blocking it from her perception. The wet grass wasn't anything she didn't know. The perfumes were harder to ignore, but she made herself focus on the coppery smell of blood that still lingered. There was blood on the guard's sword, dark and thick more like syrup. Dipping a fingertip in it, Cerissa let herself memorize the smell.

Rich, almost earthy. There was the faint stench of alcohol that clung to it. Already she could tell the direction it was coming from and after wiping her now pink-stained finger on the guard's clothing, she turned to face the man the smell was coming from.

A man who appeared in his late forties grinned in a way that split his mouth from beneath his mask when Cerissa met his eyes. Dressed in luxurious clothes that must have cost a small fortune, numerous rings adorned his fingers.

 _What now, little witcher?_ She heard a faint whisper though his lips did not move. _You are alone and unarmed, and you tumble through darkness because your beloved senses have failed you._

_You are alone and your wolf is not here to save you this time. Your elf cannot be your ears. The she-bear is busy with cards. Come to the ballroom, let us speak like civilized folk._

He bowed his head to her, then excused himself when the thunderous footsteps of guards approaching could be heard.

 

 

Amriel stood in the duke's trophy room, thinking to himself that even Cerissa's recreation of her griffin kill was more impressive than the stuffed bucks and beers that were so proudly on display. The bear head on the skin he had given Olwen held more character than the dark glass eyes that watched him as he walked about the room, trying to busy himself with trying to read the runes that dotted the weapons in the glass case.

“Amriel?” Came Olwen's voice, her thick accent making it sound like she skipped the 'I' in his name altogether. He spun, hand already started to ice over when a muttered incantation. Olwen's brow furrowed, huffing as she crossed her arms over her chest. “And what be the meaning o'this?”

“How do I take my tea?” He questioned.

It looked like her, down to the scar across her nose. The same amber eyes that always sparkled when she laughed, her copper hair pinned up in a loose bun with curling tendrils poking out. Freckles dotted almost every inch of visible skin. The same scarlet dress he had helped her pick in the seamtress' shop. The same mannerisms. But the way she smirked was wrong, no dimple in her cheeks, the corner of her lips quirking the wrong way.

“You don't drink tea.”

“Wrong.”

There was no hesitation in letting loose a blast of ice from his palm that had long started to steam from the cold gathered there. He braced himself, watching the floor erupt into ice crystals that quickly shattered from the warmth in the room and sent splinters flying. The copy screamed in a voice that more than made him pause, certainty wavering when it cast quen to deflect the blast. It shattered in a familiar twinkle similar to glass and Amriel stared at the frozen figure in front of him in horror.

Could it-

He shook his head, still holding the spell. Only on two occasions had he seen Olwen cast a sign, not nearly as prolific with them as Cerissa. Setting his jaw, he looked away and squeezed his hand, not managing to hold back the pained cry at the wet sound of blood splattering on the marble as the ice on the figure impaled their organs and the body crumpled to the ground.

 

 

“Amriel, it's really me,” Olwen tried to assure him through his screaming, running to the sound the second it reached her ears. The small group of guards that had gathered in the doorway stopped her, catching her with a wide arm across her waist. “Let me-” she huffed, “I'm with the Lamonia lass.” She snorted as she pushed past the man in plate armor, setting her shoulders as easily as though she was in her full gear.

“Amriel, hon,” she picked her way over the bloody ice that still stood in the middle of the room. “It's alright. It's over. Amriel-”

He trembled as he met her gaze, voice now hoarse from his screaming. Tears streamed down his face, and she could see his ears starting to show through his illusion. “Amriel...” she murmured, pulling him close enough to hide his face in her shoulder. “Your ears are showing, hon.”

“You...you should be dead.” He sobbed, gripping her arm with trembling fingers. “I killed you, you should be-”

“Wait,” Olwen pulled back enough to meet his eye, “You killed me?”

He sniffed, nodding, and managed to gather himself up enough to stabilize the illusion over his appearance. “Looked like you, anyway. Could cast those signs or whatever you call them and-”

“A doppler? Here?” Olwen cursed under her breath, “Wonder if the lass and pup know.”

“I'm sure at least Eskel does by now.”

 

 

The click of heels on the marble seemed a little too hasty, but Eskel didn't look away from the dancers on the floor below. Cerissa smiled, mentioning something about the duke's study, and he nodded to show he was listening but it wasn't until she tugged at his arm that he looked away.

Same hopeful smile and visible scars, but he narrowed his eyes at the medallion hanging around her neck. Amriel, last he checked, had opted to hold onto it when she determined it was better for appearances to play the role of a noble. There was the faint smell of lavender, when she had been wearing rosemary oil when they left the manor earlier that evening. He smiled, though, not wanting the copy to know his unease, and let them lead him to the gardens.

She was talking quickly in a voice that was so familiar, and yet it sounded foreign coming from this mouth. Eskel paused, digging his heel in slightly, when she tried to lead him to one of the fountains.

“Why did you want me out of the ballroom?”

The woman smiled somewhat nervously, and his eyes narrowed when her hand didn't go to her neck to rub at the scar as Cerissa would. “I don't...I don't know what you're talking about. Can't we enjoy-”

“Cerissa rubs her neck when she's nervous,” he shook his head, sighing as he pried the now tightening fingers loose from his arm. “But if it's me, and just me, what would she have to be nervous about?” Before the person could even speak there was a white flash and they stared at him with a glossy look. “Where is she?” He demanded, not able to keep the snarl out of his voice.

“Main ballroom, he will dance with her now.”

“Who will dance with her?”

“The master will-”

“And who is this master?”

The doppler laughed, breaking through his use of axii, and glaring at him. “For a witcher, you know very little. She was right, you know, but not in the way she thinks.”

There was only a moment of pause before he drew the hunting knife he had tucked away in a boot, driving it between the person's ribs and watching as they slumped to the ground. He withdrew his blade with something of a curse muttered under his breath, not bothering to wipe off the blood before tucking the blade back into place and hurrying to the ballroom.

 

 

“Little witcher,” the man smiled as the bowed to each other on the dance floor, offering his arm to her. “So glad to meet the Griffin of Enna, though I hear your wings were clipped.”

“With all due respect sir-” she paused, realizing she had not been given a name, and waiting for him to offer one as he placed a hand flat against hers, starting a slow circular step pattern in time with the haunting violin melody that played.

“Plinius,” he provided, smiling even as they switched leading arms. “Go on, dear.”

“My wings are not clipped,” She finished her thought. “Though I am curious, why the court of Kovir for a vampire such as yourself to make an appearance?”

“You certainly do not mince words, Miss Lamonia. Your country is full of resources,” he mused, pulling her close suddenly before dipping her in a way that made the crowd gasp with delight, “And you yourself live off a mine of a very valuable metal, dear.”

“Fitting a witcher has it, no?” She offered her best fake smile for the court as he righted her and began another step sequence. “Though I'm curious why you chose this soiree to show yourself.”

“All of the court in one place and the duke? Why I certainly couldn't refuse such an offer, and to meet the witcher that just a year ago was merely more than a splinter in my side,” the smile faltered for a second and she savored the look of anger in Plinius' dark eyes, “We should thank whoever trained you, my dear. They did such an exquisite job.”

 

 

Eskel stood frozen on the balcony overlooking the dance floor, watching Cerissa quietly converse with the man she was dancing with. A silver dust bomb in his hand, Amriel had managed to position himself just to the side of the steps leading to the upper level of the ballroom. Even from where he stood, Eskel could see the elf tightly gripped Cerissa's silver sword- the faint glow of her preferred runes painting the wall behind Amriel a faint red.

It would have to be quick, but she looked up to meet his eye and nodded almost imperceptibly.

 

The music came to an end and she allowed her dance partner a bow before there was a bright flash and a thin, blue-silver powder rained down on the dance floor. Cerissa quickly traced yrden in the air and placed it at the vampire's feet, watching as the form of a nobleman dissolved into that of what looked like a large bat with no wings. A collective gasp spread over the crowd, scattered screams filling the room.

“Cerissa!” Amriel tossed her sword to her and she grinned when she caught it, spinning the blade in her hand to test it before holding it flat against her forearm.

“Want to see just how clipped my wings are?” She hissed, deftly stepping aside with a small spin when Plinius lunged at her.

Cerissa easily corrected her grip with her fingers, bringing the blade around in a shallow arc that sent a spray of blood splattering on the stone floor. The vampire shrieked in pain, retreating to try to heal and looking at her with rage in its eyes when realizing what Eskel's bomb had done. It screamed in response, revealing feral looking teeth and she laughed, knotting her skirt quickly to the side.

Blood poured from her wound and again it lunged at her, trying to turn invisible and getting caught in her sign circle. Cerissa grinned, ducking down and driving her sword into its abdomen before pushing upwards with the blade. Rewarded with a new spray of blood, she winced at the claws that dug at her, reaching for the knife on her thigh and pushing the blade flush against the vampire's neck, not bothering to wince at the torrent of blood that covered her when she severed the main arteries.

It screamed, trying pull away, and only managing to drive her sword deeper into its chest. With a final screech, it tumbled backwards.

Silence filled the room, Cerissa still on her knees and holding her knife with shaking hands. She didn't care about the deep claw marks that lined her upper arms. She didn't care that she was covered in blood. Cerissa only stared at the vampire in front of her and couldn't believe she had managed to kill it. Everything else seemed to move in slow motion as guards rushed onto the floor, helping her to her feet and insisting she get treatment for her wounds. She shook her head, putting the knife back in its holster, and pulling her sword from its corpse.

“Cerissa Lamonia!” Came the voice of the duke as he came down the stairs to the dance floor, standing on the small ledge in front of her, “Good to see the stories of the Griffin of Enna are true after all.”

It hadn't clicked. Even with the applause that now filled the room, led by the duke, she hadn't quite realized what happened. In a blink it had been over. She stood now panting, her silk gown stained red and chilled to her core but they were calling her a hero. She bowed, dropping to a knee, but the duke laughed and shook his head.

“No, mistress witcher,” he tugged her to her feet, then knelt to her. She watched in confusion as the gathered nobles followed suit. “We are forever in your debt. Let it be known that Marchioness Lamonia, witcher of the Griffin School, is the reason we leave here tonight!”

“And my-”

There was a gentle hand at her waist and she looked to find Eskel, who shook his head with a soft smile. “Enjoy the spotlight while you can,” he whispered, slipping her medallion over her head and gently kissing the scar at her jaw. “You did well.”

“Thank you,” she grinned, holding his hand as the duke lead a toast to her.

 

 

“A wolf and a griffin, never would have thought.”

Cerissa turned in the doorway, looking at the man who sat lounging in one of the armchairs. He smirked at her, green-yellow eyes watching her intently. Resting his chin on her fist, she narrowed her eyes at the griffin head medallion hanging around his neck. Dressed in dark colors, his chestnut hair lay messily around a nearly scar-less face.

 “Couldn't have thought the little princess was the only one to make it out of that blaze, could you?” He sighed, getting to his feet, “Not sure what the old man would think about you nowadays, though.”

“He'd be proud,” Cerissa nearly growled, having no time for this foolishness. Her arms burned from her wounds and her skin was starting to itch from the blood now drying on it.

“Would he? You looked like a fucking ballerina out there.”

“I adapted. I was alone and had to learn somehow or I was going to find myself dead in a nekker nest somewhere. The future of our craft is murky at best, so don't you dare go lecturing me on training with someone from another school when clearly it was for my benefit. Purist ideals like yours, Rino, are the end of whatever remains of our craft.”

“Whatever you say, little fledgling.” He shrugged, “Just be careful who you get cozy with.”

“Are you suggesting the man I lay with wants to kill me?” She snapped. “You're not my teacher anymore, you never were. You hated me from the start because you never wanted this and yet I threw myself into it willingly. If all you have to say is poison, I bid you good evening.”

“And your tongue is still just as sharp as your claws. See you around, fledgling.” He smirked as she turned on her heels. “A cross-breed. Interesting to see how this will play out.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This is a shot at the Winter Palace sequence from Dragon Age: Inquisition and the player not being able to be too far from the ballroom for a long period of time without losing court approval. I hated it, so I had to make fun of it.


	14. A Brief Repose

Cerissa sighed when she sank into the tub, the water already turning pink from the blood on her skin. She smiled, closing her eyes and enjoying the warmth of the steaming water.

“A new local celebrity,” Eskel chuckled, sitting in a chair nearby. “How much do you want to bet the next time you're in a tavern there's a ballad sung about you?” She groaned, trying to sink deeper in the tub, and he laughed, “You wanted grand adventure and tales of your own, right?”

“I'll never top killing a vampire in front of everyone in court.”

“You say that as though trouble isn't your middle name.”

“Shush.”

He laughed, softer this time, and there was the soft rustling of fabric before the strong smell of antiseptic filled the room. “Let me see your arms at least while you soak.”

“If the water was cleaner, I'd ask you to join me,” she opened one eye lazily, smirking when he shook his head.

“I am proud of you,” he seemingly pretended like he hadn't heard her, dabbing at the slashes on her upper arms with the alcohol soaked cloth. She winced, gritting her teeth, but forced herself to stay still. “The stories won't be without cause.”

“Just another day's work.”

“A noble who was considered an outcast saved all of court in the most visible and dramatic way,” he again dabbed at the cuts after a few minutes, satisfied when she didn't flinch nearly as badly.

“I had help.”

“I threw a Moon Dust bomb to give you an advantage.”

“And Amriel-”

“Gave you a weapon,” he stopped her, “You fought it. And made it looks as effortless as killing drowners.”

“Yeah but-”

“Cerissa,” he practically breathed, rubbing her shoulders. “You were stunning.”

“Good to know blood gets you excited,” she laughed, reaching back to ruffle his hair.

“No, but watching you practice your craft does.”

Cerissa's smile was soft, satisfied with the explanation, but the warmth in her chest faded when she remembered the look of disgust Rino had given her. The soft smile turned to a scowl and she snorted out a sigh. Letting her eyes open, she stared at the ceiling as though it would give her the answers.

“I wasn't only one to survive the attack,” she whispered. There was a slight pause in the firm circles being worked into her shoulders, but he didn't say anything. “I thought there would be some kind of...elation? At the thought I'm not the only griffin school witcher left, but,” she sighed, “Of course it had to be Rino.”

“Worse than Lambert?”

“Rino is something else entirely. There's no humor at all with him, no way to even have a moment of camaraderie. From the stories, you're at least friendly with Lambert and could trust him with your life. I don't know if it's just me, but Rino seemed to hate me from the moment he met me.”

“Cerissa,” he sighed, “I've been trying to dance around this topic, but how did you come to be a witcher?”

“I willingly sought out Fareal.”

“If you remember right, that kind of story isn't the norm. Could be resentment towards your choice.”

Cerissa paused, the question heavy on her tongue, and bit her lip to stop it from tumbling out.

“Most witchers,” Eskel started carefully sensing her unspoken question, hands now still against her skin, “Came to the Path as children taken from their parents through something called the law of surprise.” Cerissa shifted nervously, and he sighed, “It's invoked in place of a monetary reward, requiring “That which you find at home but least expect.” It's not always a kid,” he shrugged, “That's how I got Scorpion, a knight I rescued had a horse that just foaled. But Olwen was one of those kids. Hell, I'm pretty sure I was.”

“I...” She stopped, not sure what to say and instead pressed against his hands. “Why...why didn't you tell me sooner?”

There were so many answers to that question but none of them seemed good enough. They were all frail in the face that she had trusted him and he had, in some way by omitting a large truth of their craft, betrayed that trust.

Cerissa filled in the gap before he could speak again. “You were scared. I understand, at least I think I do. But that...makes a lot of little mysteries make much more sense.” She sighed, shrugging out from under his touch and ducked under the surface of the water long enough to rinse the blood off her face. She pressed herself against the opposite wall of the tub for a moment before scowling and reaching for her towel. “I just...”

“You want to be alone, I understand.”

 

 

“Why the long face?” Olwen plopped unceremoniously on one of the chaises in the foyer, “Thought you'd be celebrating your bonnie lass' victory.”

Eskel couldn't help his scowl, rolling his eyes as he passed her on the way outside. Olwen snorted, brow furrowing, and smoothly instead got to her feet and followed after him. “What's got your small clothes in a bunch? Did you two have an argument?”

“Something of the sort.”

“Come now, surely it's not something that can't be-”

“Olwen, please, not right now. Just let it go for now.”

She pursed her lips when he sat heavily on one of the stone benches that dotted the garden, letting out a sigh that made his shoulders sag. It was silent for a moments as his gaze settled absently on a molleyarrow plant, one of Cerissa's most used herbs in her attempted concoctions. She loved the deep yellow color of it and had managed to make a writing ink using its petals. Olwen sighed, kicking absently at the ground. “You didn't split did you?”

He looked up at her in surprise, but shook his head. “Not that I know of, but it,” he paused to find the right wording, “It will probably take her awhile to trust me again, not that I blame her.”

“Hardly my place to ask, but how'd you manage to muck something up so quickly?”

“I finally let her in on an omitted truth.”

“I don't follow, I'm afraid.”

“Cerissa is the only willing witcher I know.”

“Mind cutting the riddles and just-” Olwen stopped, eyes narrowing. “She didn't know about the law of surprise.” He only nodded in answer, “So you're telling me you traveled with this lass for a year, even took her to your keep and shared some of your deepest secrets with her, and yet-” She shook her head, stopping herself, “Can't say I blame her for not trusting you if you didn't trust her.”

 

 

There was a soft knock at the door and Cerissa didn't turn to even answer it, instead focusing on the bubbling pot in front of her. Hair stilling dripping from her bath, her goggles had long fogged up. Olwen sighed softly and as annoyed as Cerissa probably was, she was still bundled up in one of Eskel's undershirts. Olwen had to smile at the sight, the worn and thinned fabric hanging loosely on Cerissa's thin frame.

“I didn't stop loving him just because I'm confused,” Cerissa provided, voice barely above a whisper.

“Good to know going separate ways isn't on your mind.”

Cerissa spun on her stool, nearing ripping off her goggles to show widened, fearful eyes. “Why? Does he-”

“Shush, lass, no.”

“Then why would you-”

“Because he's scared you're thinking it.”

Cerissa sighed, turning back on to her brew. “I know, I'm being childish.”

Olwen nodded, “Both of you are, aye. And after you simmer in your own thoughts, I'm expectin' you two to talk like grown folk.”

“Why are you so concerned about our relationship?”

“Because I can see what the pup means to you and what letting yourself lose him because you suddenly lost that forked tongue of yours would do.” Olwen set her jaw, “And I'm not willing to put up with yer poutin' if you lost him.”

 

 

Cerissa watched each careful movement with a soft smile on her face. She was sure he had heard her but he showed no sign of it, each step and turn almost seeming like a well-choreographed dance instead of sword drills. That first month she knew Eskel she had spent so much time trying to mimic the fluidity in how he moved and even now she told herself it was the years of experience difference that made her seem clumsy in comparison. She watched intently for several moments before settling on the bottom step of the back porch. There was a moment's pause as he caught his breath before he spared a glance in her direction.

“Care to dance?” He offered a bow, smirking.

She sighed, getting back to her feet. “How could I refuse such an offer? After all, never got the chance to dance at the masquerade. Let me go get my blade.”

 

 

Antony couldn't help the smile on his lips, watching the two start a slow circle. It almost was like a dance, Eskel pressing forward while Cerissa answered it with a parry. Easily knocking his sword aside, she tapped his side with the flat of her sword. He stepped back so quickly Antony would have thought he nearly jumped, the two looking as though they were going to circle each other before Cerissa cast a modified version of one of her signs. He answered with his own, a thin bubble of orange-brown blocking the small wave of sparks before she rushed forward to meet his challenge.

He watched the two in awe, sighing softly when Amriel plopped into the chair near the back door next to him.

“Amazing how much they trust each other, huh?”

Antony only nodded. Amriel looked up at the older man and grinned as well at the warmth in his eyes. Hands clasped behind his back, Antony bobbed slightly along with Cerissa's movements and winced with her when Eskel hit her particularly hard across the back of her shoulders.

“Certainly doesn't take it easy on her, does he?”

Amriel shook his head, eyes narrowed to follow them better in the dark, “Sparring is for practice. He'd only be doing her a disservice by going easy.” Amriel laughed at one of Cerissa's feigns, grin mirroring hers when she paid back Eskel's earlier hit in full.

“I know, just sometimes-” he sharply inhaled when Cerissa tripped, but his shoulders sank again when Eskel instead caught her with a soft smile. “Sometimes I worry they'll hurt each other.”

“No better teacher than pain.”

 

 

“You know I'm not angry with you, right? Or even disappointed,” she sheathed her sword after he did, rubbing at her shoulder.

“Fooled me, then.”

She sighed, “I'm sorry for making you feel like I did.”

“And I apologize for lying.”

“You didn't necessarily lie.”

“What is a half truth but half a lie?”

She nodded. “True enough.” For once the silence was heavy and she tried not to shift restlessly on her feet. “I'll be in the study if you need me.”

He caught her wrist when she turned to go back inside, “Up for that late night ride you've always wanted? We need to talk.”

The smile on her lips was faint, but she nodded. “Go saddle up Moose and Scorpion, I'll change into something-”

“You're fine the way you are,” he laughed, the sound making her chest flush warm. “Come on. Let's go.”

 


	15. On The Path Again

Cerissa pressed herself against the wall, controlling her breathing and listening to the low chattering of the guards just around the corner. It was a misunderstanding, she told herself, and only when she was sure they were facing the other way dared peel herself from the wall and hurry down the alleyway. There were footsteps behind her, and she spun, one hand going to the sword at her hip.

A man in plain clothes smirked at her, a gold tooth sparkling in the darkness. Cerissa snorted out a sigh, letting go of her sword in favor of bringing her hands up in front of her face. Much easier than in a fist fight with Olwen, there was little effort in blocking the man's punches. She grabbed his fist at one point, twisting his arm behind his back and yanked upwards. He yelped, dropping to his knees when she pulled harder.

“When are people going to learn to not attack witchers?” Cerissa groaned, letting go of the man's arm and instead gripping his head to knock it hard against the alley wall with a loud crack. He crumpled to the ground with something of a gurgle, making her pause to make sure he was breathing before returning to where she had left Moose.

Far from Enna, it felt like so long ago that she stood on the marble dance floor with a dagger pressed to the throat of a katakan. From the way some of the bards in the larger cities told the tale, she would have thought it happened just yesterday. Each time she heard the story it was slightly different, in one she was inhumanly fast while in another the fight was exaggerated to be much longer and yet in a whole different retelling of the story she wouldn't have recognized it if weren't for the young singer repeatedly referring to her as a fledgling.

Despite the small bit of fame the story brought her, the contracts she found posted and offered to her personally were the same. Spooks, doors slamming shut. A drowner dragging one too many farmer into the lakes on their land. A missing husband or hunter.

While her pockets certainly weren't empty, there was no lack of work or coin in Kovir, she wondered how Olwen and Amriel were fairing. Amriel had written her to say he left shortly after she did, Olwen coming along with the insistence that it was only to keep him safe. When he insisted he was a mage and could handle himself, she then used his race as an excuse to keep herself nearby.

Cerissa had set herself on seeing if anyone had heard anything about another witcher in the area, only getting the slightest scraps of information and always seeming to be one step behind. While she certainly did not want to force a meeting with Rino, she also was curious to find out what had occupied his time in the years she thought him dead.

Spinning the ring on her index finger absently, the motion of Moose easily lulling her, Cerissa wondered if he was taunting her or was unaware of her prodding. After the first month she had lost most of her interest in her pursuit, instead hugging the coastline and making her way to the summer capital of Kovir, Point Vanis. She had been welcomed in the city by the huge wall that faced the sea and several guards that had directed her towards the castle upon seeing the griffin head around her neck.

The castle was more like a fortress, a building with thick high walls that could withstand almost any onslaught. When the guards at the front gates had insisted on taking her weapons and searching Moose's saddlebags, it only took a wave of her fingers to persuade them otherwise. The king was much as his father had been, broad shouldered with dark hair and eyes.

He regarded Cerissa with a cocked eyebrow, obviously not impressed with the thin woman in leathers that his guards had brought him even thought they insisted she was indeed a witcher.

“Marchioness Cerissa Lamonia of Enna,” she offered in ways of greeting when he stood to greet her, keeping with old tradition and not bowing to the monarch. “Witcher of the Griffin School.”

“Ah, the Griffin of Enna.” He nodded approvingly, waving his guards out of the room. “Tell me, is that story about the vampire true?”

“If by true, your majesty, you mean that I indeed killed a vampire in the full view of most of the court, then yes. Whatever else you might have heard I cannot say what's true and isn't.”

“I also hear you have had trouble with witch hunters in your home of Enna. This troubles me. You are aware that Kovir and Poviss is one of the last kingdoms to welcome the mages, yes?”

“That's why my friend Amriel stays, yes.”

“Then you have an understanding of my concern.”

“Are you asking me to return home and finish my investigation of the hunters, sir?”

His face turned grim, shaking his head. “Not an investigation, I'm afraid. I am offering you the coin and resources to finish what you have previously began and rid this country of their kind.” One of the guards standing nearby offered her a coin purse that she paused before accepting, raising an eyebrow at the king wordlessly. “Half up front to begin your efforts and aid your travel back home, then the other half upon your return and assurance the work has been completed.”

 

 

Olwen knelt before a crude stone altar, very aware of Amriel's unease. The air around them crackled with energy and she was sure he was feeling it too. The air around the altar was thick with incense and Olwen breathed easily, memories of when she was little starting to play at the back of her mind. Fingers covered in temporary tattoos of symbols even Amriel had no idea what they meant, Olwen had a different plan than the one issuing the contractor no doubt had.

For several moments Amriel waited before a wind kicked up and there was the calls of crows in the tree above the altar. Olwen muttered something he couldn't hear, tilted her head as if listening intently to something unheard, then nodded.

“Olwen, I-”

“Shush,” she snapped. “I try not to kill when I can.” She sighed, opening her eyes and shaking her head to try and clear the gathered fog in her mind. “It'll agree to leave if we do something for it first.”

“You struck a deal with a leshen?”

“They're not devils, most can be reasonable if you're willin' to listen to 'em.”

 

 

Burning the last pile of remains, Olwen could feel a release somewhere far off in the forest and her medallion finally lay still. Waiting for a moments to be sure, a small flock of crows gathered nearby and she couldn't help the smile that pulled at her lips.

Crows were often seen as omens of evil, but she knew otherwise. While the eyes of the ones that had followed the two were certainly more intelligent than the normal bird wandering the forest, they were inquisitive creatures that she once had the pleasure of getting to know. One of the gathered flock hopped forward, a piece of twine wrapped antler in its beak. It paused for a moment, tilting its head in thought and Olwen bowed her head. The crow promptly dropped the antler and only cawed once before the whole flock took off as one with a gust of wind that had Amriel on edge.

“What's-”

“My trophy,” Olwen provided. “Humans need somethin' t'show we witchers did our work.” She smiled, stepping forward and scooping up the piece of antler. “It should leave the village alone now.”

 

 Stretched out on the floor of the inn room, Amriel turned a pendant over in his hands repeatedly, squinting at the barely visible runes carved into the stone's surface. There was soft splashing as Olwen climbed out of the wooden basin the inn used in place of the porcelain bathtubs he had grown accustomed to. He smiled, peeking out of the corner of his eye at her while she tugged her hair from under the towel she had herself wrapped in, giving the locks a firm squeeze.

“What do you have there?”

“Found it, well, no,” he corrected himself with a snort, “Stole it, more accurately, from the duke the night of the masquerade. Was tucked behind a book in his library,” he muttered, running his fingers over the surface and frowning. “I was hoping I could reference a book in 'Rissa's library but it wasn't the same script...”

“Lemme see it.”

Amriel tossed it at her absently, actually surprised Olwen caught it. “Let's see,” she sat on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs and not seeming to care when the small knot holding her towel in place came undone. Blushing, Amriel instead looked back up at the ceiling and prayed she didn't see the heat spreading across his cheeks.

“You act like you've never seen a lass naked,” she laughed quietly, not looking up at him while she inspected the pendant. “Something here about a protection spell, but I can't quite make out all of it. Are you alright?”

“Please put something on,” he scrunched up his nose.

“Do I offend? All you mainlanders I swear. Too distractin' for ya?”

“Very,” he muttered, earning a giggle.

“Can't make all of it out, Amriel, but looks like some sort of protective charm,” she tossed it back to him, then got up and much to his relief, pulled on a tunic. “Better?”

“Maybe one day I'll find someone who can read it.”

Olwen had gotten used to Amriel preferring the floor or even outside compared to the straw mattresses or even fur rugs that frequented smaller town inns, so it came as no surprise that once again he was stretched out on the bare wood floor. Often times he would lay on his bed roll, happy to just have a semi solid roof over his head, even though Olwen insisted he use the other bed. He sighed, tucking the pendant away, and reached up to make small spirals in the air with his fingers.

“You witchers are sensitive to magic, but you can't see it the same way I can,” he smiled, folding one arm behind his head, catching a tendril between his fingers like a piece of string and stretching it with another.

“Did you study with the Brotherhood?”

Amriel shook his head, “Taught myself everything I know, and try not to get involved in politics like most. Just learned enough to keep myself from becoming a slobbering moron, not enough to kill a king.”

“You seemed pretty proficient with the witch hunters back at the manor.”

Amriel scowled, bringing his other hand from behind his head and extending his fingers in the air, a small cloud of what looked like dust forming around them. “You two were in danger.”

“You can still kill, Amriel.”

“So can you.”

“I have swords and extensive combat training,” Olwen pressed her lips into a thin line, trying to fight a scowl. “I'm _trained_ to kill.”

“Humans kill regardless of vocation,” he sighed and spread his fingers wide in the air. “But I'd rather not dwell on death,” he flashed one of his cheesy grins and instead focused on the swirling form around his hands. “Let me show you how I see the stars.”

There was a rush of cold air, pulling his hands apart as the swirling shapes took form between them. Muttering some incantation under his breath, he pushed the shapes forward until they filled the room. Olwen gasped quietly to herself at the soft blues and grays that filled the air, looking as through glitter danced in tendrils of translucent ribbon.

“Come lay down,” Amriel sat up, putting the floor next to him, “It really is breath taking.”

Olwen cautiously crept over, amazed to find the wisps danced away from her touch like skin while others wrapped themselves around her. A small chill ran up her spine, resisting the urge to play with the flickering flecks of light that danced in this milky sea he had conjured. Lowering herself down to his level, she laid back and couldn't help her soft gasp.

“I can see some of the ley lines that converge at those places of power you three occasionally find,” he explained.

“You see this all the time?”

Amriel pursed his lips in through, then finally shook his head. “Not all the time. It's like this closer to a ley line, and on certain days of the year like Lammas, Samhain, Imbolc, and Beltane.”

“Can I touch it?”

“It's only a spell, Olwen, like any of my other illusions,” he chuckled, finally laying back as well. “See?” He swirled his hand in a thick patch of white and she watched as it wrapped around his hand like incense smoke. “It doesn't hurt, it's just a very solid illusion.”

Olwen reached up as well, the wisps feeling almost like cool steam, some clinging to the remainder of the symbols she had drawn on her fingers with plant dyes. She let out a small giggle, swirling her fingers in the mist, and smiling at the warmth that filled her despite the chill on her hands. Amriel let out a small, silent breath of relief and closed his eyes, listening to her gentle laughs and relishing in the warmth her coming in contact with his magic brought. He flushed, though, when she rolled over onto her side and gently pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” her voice was barely anything more than a whisper.

He reached for one of her hands, surprised when she willingly gave it to him. “Anything to hear that laugh again.”

 


	16. Steel for Humans

Cerissa was so close to being home, so close to her warm bed and the welcoming smile of Antony. It was another week's ride at worse, the weather not cooperating recently, and Cerissa found herself giddy when she stopped at a town that she knew relatively well. Full of channels, gondolas were the preferred method of transportation among the locals. Moose was one of few horses in the stables near the main gates, and she was even fewer of the visitors who insisted on walking everywhere. Cerissa always a distrust of boats and while she was often accused of not being to able swim, it was instead what could be lurking beyond the surface that made her want to keep her feet firmly planted on solid ground.

“Glad the little fledgling could join us,” came a familiar snarl that stopped her in her tracks not long after she had left Moose at the stable, kissing his nose despite his unease. It was almost as if the horse had not wanted her to go alone.

“I am much more than a fledgling.”

“You're right, you're a mutt. You're a crossbreed and one who takes coin from kings to make it even worse.”

“I take work-”

“From whoever is offering it?”

She turned, one hand at her dagger on her thigh. “That is the point of neutrality, yes.”

“And the point of taking a contract from a king?”

“Enna is my home, Rino!” Cerissa hissed, glaring at the older witcher. “What would you have me do? Ignore the coin freely given to me to do something I've been meaning to? Or is this over something else? Simply stalking me because of the company I keep?”

“Honestly I couldn't give a damn about the pup, long ear, and the Skellige bitch,” he pushed off the wall he had been leaning against. “Just finally getting around to finishing off something I should have ended a long time ago,” he drew his steel sword with something of a flourish. “Choice is yours, 'Rissa,” he spat, using Fareal's nickname for her, the sound twisted coming from his mouth. “Stand, or die like those other wretches did that night.”

“I don't wish to fight one I used to call brother.”

“Then die.”

She blinked and suddenly he was there. Bringing her arms up to protect her face, she managed to shield herself with quen before he grabbed her by the wrist and twisted her arm up behind her with a yank.

“Nice ring,” he laughed, “Your new master give it to you?”

She snorted, free hand directed behind her and tracing aard in the air. Rino stumbled backwards, letting go of her wrist, and she quickly rolled away. Cerissa had her steel sword drawn before she managed to get to her feet. Testing its weight in her hand, she barely had enough time to catch her breath before bracing herself and not being able to break a defensive position from the flurry of blows from Rino.

Cerissa scowled, shoulder still aching, and adjusted her stance. Pushing back against him, she tried her best to parry but still barely suppressed a scream when she managed to cut him deep in his side but his blade dug into her shoulder. She cried out, ducking her shoulder to prevent further damage, and dragged her sword across his chest. A deep slash blossomed against the dark colors of his leather and he cursed her as he withdrew several steps.

Cerissa could feel a slow but steady trickle of blood down her shoulder, now thankful for the reinforcement Eskel had put into the design- it was probably the only reason she could still use her arm, the metal pieces embedded in the leather stopping the sword before it severed any tendon.

“Taught you well,” He huffed.

“Shut up,” she rushed forward, landing another clean hit that fell high on his chest and smirked at the blood that blossomed to the surface.

While Rino was faster on his feet than she was, Cerissa was light enough to have stamina to last longer than him. While he pressed early in the fight, she was just feeling like it was starting. She almost laughed when he tried to bring his sword around in a shallow arc and she easily deflected it, knocking it from his hands and sending it skittering across the stone road. There was only a moment of pause before she heard the screams of her charges again, saw Fareal's face caked with blood but still smiling at her.

_Fire. The coppery smell of blood making her stomach turn._

_The feeling of the hunter's hands on her that would make every other man's feel like fire._

With a scream of pain, she turned and gained enough force to cut almost clean through his neck. For a moment Rino's face froze in an expression of disbelief, a gurgle coming from his mouth, before his eyes went lifeless. He dropped to his knees, body already starting to go limp. It took another strike to fully sever his spinal column and he fell forward, a pool of blood quickly forming.

Listening carefully to make sure no one was coming to inspect the sounds of the fight, Cerissa bent and cut the medallion from his neck. Sheathing her sword, she turned and picked up his. Unbuckling his silver sword from its holster on his back, she took the sheath for the steel sword and slipped it into place before the sound of a guard's whistle caught her attention.

“Murderer!” She heard a gruff voice call and she cursed, clutching his swords to her chest and running as fast as her legs would carry her.

 

 

He cursed at the rain while he was thankful to have city walls around him again, the black horse at the stable was enough to give him pause. The horse nipped at him as he dismounted Scorpion, grabbing at his hair and tugging. Eskel laughed gently, scratching the gelding's nose and managing to find a snack in his pack for each horse.

“Good to see you too, Moose.” He sighed, “Know where your rider might be?”

Of course the horse only happily crunched on the offered treat, curiously sniffing at Scorpion who huffed and turned away to finish his own snack. Eskel sighed, not bothering to check for notices. Turning down a side road headed towards the larger inn in the center of town, there was a group of several guards gathered around the body of a man in thick leather armor. Head severed, the cut had been hurried and desperate. From the amount of blood now pooling beneath the body and the smell in the air thick enough that he almost turned away, Eskel had to wonder if there were more injuries he couldn't see. The holster for two swords on his back made him pause, wishing for a moment there were no guards so he could get a better look.

_If she's actually here, I think I know what happened..._

He simply turned and retraced his steps, electing to take another route to avoid unwanted attention. The faint smell of rosemary oil that barely lingered in the air brought a cautious smile to his face.

 

 

A young woman dressed in dark clothing and a riding cape about waist length sat in the corner of the inn's bar downstairs, fingers clutching a cup that was nearly full. Eyes shadowed so deeply they appeared sunken in, they darted about the room nervously. Bandages, stained red, peaked out from under her oversized tunic at her shoulder, fingers wrapped with tape. She nervously spun a ring she wore and from where he stood, Eskel could make out the faint glint of red stones in the design.

He sighed, carefully making his way through the crowd to join the young woman and wishing this reunion was playing out instead as he may have seen it in a daydream. Instead, her yellow-green eyes looked down between their nervous circuits of the room.

“Let me guess- Nilfgaardian lemon with White Gull.” She practically jumped at the sound of his voice, making him sigh. “Cerissa,” he knelt to her level, gently prying the cup from her hand and putting his hand over hers to still it. “It's okay. It's just me.”

“You-you saw it, didn't you?” She still didn't look at him, free hand coming to rest at the scar on her neck.

“I'm guessing he attacked you first.”

She nodded, “He...he was the reason-” she broke off in something of a choked sob. She reached for him, grateful he let her pull him close and burying her face in his shoulder. “I didn't want to kill him.”

“Hush, love.”

“He helped kill them. He came to-”

“Sh, Cerissa.” He rubbed her back, giving her a gentle squeeze. “I'm assuming you have a room? Let's go talk where there aren't so many people to listen.” When she didn't move, he gently adjusted his grip on her and scooped her up in his arms to cradle her. From the heavy smell of alcohol easily drowning out her preferred rosemary oil, part of him was glad he had found her sooner than later.

“I love you,” she mumbled, not caring about the eyes in the room that may have been staring. This was safety. This was familiar.

And as miserable as she felt, she was home.

 

 

Standing once again watching Eskel check his pack one more time and give Moose a light pat on the gray between his eyes when the gelding started getting increasingly upset he wasn't having his saddle put on as well, it was a familiar scene. Cerissa scratched at Scorpion's ears absently when he sniffed at her hands. Tucking her hair that had long outgrown her neat bob behind her ears, it was one of the rare days in the past week it hadn't rained. Unlike last time he left, the sun was already high in the sky and the air was warm enough she could wear a cap sleeved dress.

“Where are you heading?”

“Farther inland for awhile, maybe finally find something other than drowners.”

“Hey, those drowners paid for all your armor to be repaired and some new saddlebags for Scorpion. At least the nobles pay well for each head.” Cerissa huffed, crossing her arms against her chest.

“As much as I love bog hags, I'm sure someone has work that's not wading up to my calves in stagnant water.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the adventurous one.”

“More accurately the reckless one,” he muttered under his breath, trying to hold back a laugh at the feigned look of hurt on her face. “You could always come with me.”

She shook her head, “Would love to, but I have some loose ends here on the shoreline I need to tend to before I go off venturing in the woods again.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, but smiled when she turned her attention back to Moose, trying in vain to soothe the increasingly nervous horse.

“Don't make me use axii on you,” she grumbled when he shook his head free of her hands.

“He'll settle, leave him be.” He paused, hesitating for a moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a silver ring.

Made from some of the metal left from the redesign of her armor, he turned it over in his fingers several times and was for once grateful for her prior preoccupation. He had debated over the pattern or design he wanted and even now he wasn't sure it was something she would really wear. After a moment of debating with himself over whether to follow through with the gift, he forced himself to take a deep breath.

“Cerissa, close your eyes for a minute.”

She scowled, but did as told. “I don't see why-”

“Please let me finish,” Eskel sighed, shaking his head in disbelief as he took her left hand in his. “I'm not one to make dramatic speeches usually, but-” she opened her mouth to say something, but forced herself to shut it again. He carefully slipped the ring onto her fourth finger, thankful it fit because he had guessed the size. “I want you to have a piece of me, no matter how apart the Path may take us.”

“Can I look now?”

“I'm impressed you haven't already.”

Opening one eye to peek at first, she let out a small gasp and let both open. A wolf head that looked just like his medallion sat perched on a thin band of a dark metal, what looked like garnet chips sparkling as its eyes. “I-”

“I understand if you don't want to wear another school's symbol, but-”

“You almost make it sound like you're proposing,” she laughed, testing how sharp the edges were an how much give the band had with her thumb. For once, he flushed and she smiled at the slight widening of his eyes. “I love it.”

 

 

Cerissa groaned, still half asleep, and at first was confused by the weight across his waist. She shifted slightly in bed, not quite remembering how she had gotten here. There was a soft groan and Cerissa struggled with consciousness for a moment before she let her eyes open. Her smile was soft, content what little good memories of the previous night were true. She gently reached up to trace Eskel's face scar, snorting out a laugh when he scrunched up his face restlessly. Cerissa smiled, instead kissing his forehead and sighing contentedly when he stirred, holding her tighter for a moment before slowly opening his eyes.

“Morning.”

“Honestly amazed you're awake before me.”

“I'm usually awake before you,” she protested.

“You usually don't drink that heavily, either.”

“Fair enough.” She paused, “So are we staying together or was this just coincidence?”

“First tell me what you were trying to last night.”

She sighed heavily, “I'm guessing you probably found Rino's corpse on the way here?”

He nodded, “Guards seemed pretty upset about it.”

“Someone saw me,” she provided, “And even if he attacked first, corpse robbing tends to be frowned upon.”

“Murder in general is,” he snorted out a small laugh, gently kissing her forehead.

She shared his smile for a moment but it quickly faded, “Eskel, is there something against those who...”

“Who what? What'd he get in that head of yours?”

“He kept calling me a mutt or crossbreed since I trained with you but you're a different school,” she scowled. “Said Fareal would be disappointed and-”

“If Fareal was anything like Vesemir,” he sighed, gently stopping her, “I would think he would be more interested in seeing what you learned in practice, long as you were mindful of the source.”

“I guess.”

“Cerissa-”

“Eskel, I know you despise heartfelt speeches, it's okay.” She sighed, “I am happy to see you, though.” She gently pushed at him until he rolled onto his back, using him as a pillow and half laying on him. “Had a dream about the day you gave me the ring,” she smiled at the soft blush that came to his cheeks, “You were so nervous.”

“And that was after Olwen teased me about it relentlessly for the week prior.”

“Why would she be so-”

“She kept saying I was proposing.”

“I mean, usually when a man presents a woman with a ring it does mean that.”

He groaned and she laughed, “What d'you mean you aren't proposin' to the lass?” He quoted and her laugh deepened at his attempt at a Skellige accent, the sound of it filling the room. “You're givin' 'er a ring, ain't ye?” Rolling his eyes, he shifted his position slightly to something more comfortable under her weight. “To return to your earlier question, yes, it was my intention to stay with you.”

“And you're okay with the fact I'm technically working for a king? Thought you were against the whole sticking-your-nose-in-politics business.”

“That went out the window the moment I saved a noble turned witcher.”

“Which I still haven't figured out a payment for, now a year later.”

“Already got what I wanted,” he shrugged and her brow furrowed, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “You're wearing the proof.”

She rolled her eyes, elbowing him softly in the ribs, “Sap.”

There was no laugh, no soft chuckle that usually followed one of their jokes. His expression didn't change as he gave her a long, even look that made her cheeks flush with realization, suddenly more aware of the weight of the ring on her finger.

“No...”

“I wouldn't say it's an engagement in the traditional sense of the term, but I do want to keep you in my life.” He paused, “If you'll have me.”

“Always.”

 


	17. Silver For Monsters

Something was wrong, Cerissa could tell the moment they rode through the front gates of the manor and Antony wasn't waiting for them on the front step. Barely waiting for Moose to come to a full stop, she practically threw herself from the saddle and ran inside. Amriel, waiting just inside, caught her arm and stopped her from going upstairs.

“Where's Antony?” She demanded, lips pressing into a thin line when the elf looked away. “Amriel.”

“Olwen would be better to tell you the specifics, but...” he trailed off, swallowing nervously under her careful watch.

“But?” She prompted.

“You know where his room is.”

He let her go, sighing sadly when she took the stairs two at a time.

 

 

Olwen looked up the second she heard the latch on the door be undone, face falling when Cerissa walked into the room. Antony smiled gently, thinned face paled and his eyes appearing sunken in. He gently tsked Cerissa when he saw how her eyes darkened, hesitating by the door. Sitting on a stool by his bed, Olwen draped a cool rag over his forehead. She hadn't spoken, or even looked at Cerissa, letting her head instead fall again and resuming her careful watch on the older man.

He was thin, face flushed with fever. Eyes robbed of the shine that once lived in them. Cerissa forced herself to step forward, coming to kneel beside the bed and swallowing back the lump in her throat when Antony reached for her with a trembling hand. She offered her own, the thinnest smile on her face when his fingers lingered on her ring and a flash of a warm smile graced his face.

“All grown up already,” he practically wheezed, letting out a cough that made him wince. His fingertips traced the design, a soft smile replacing the scowl once his coughing spell subsided. “As if it would be anyone else...”

“What happened?” Cerissa finally spoke, not taking her eyes off his face.

“A nithing, lass,” Olwen shook her head sadly. “Yer maid found him collapsed in the garden, tending to yer favorite herbs, a day b'fore Amriel and m'self got back yesterday. Found the pole just south of the manor with his name carved in it.”

“Know who placed it?”

Olwen sighed, “Aye. Already reversed it, but I fear it may have been too late.”

“Didn't answer my question, Olwen.”

“Yer not gonna let this go, are you, lass?” She scowled, “The mayor.”

“Always hated the bastard,” Cerissa practically growled, earning herself a feeble tap on the knuckles from Antony.

“Witcher or not, that's not language for a proper lady.”

“Sorry,” she allowed, feeling how thin his fingers had become.

Little more than the skin and bone, his knuckles were thick knots that she guessed ached him because each time he moved even the slightest amount, he winced. But he insisted on holding her hand when she tried to pull it away, shaking his head in a way that looked more like it uselessly bobbed.

“Hush, child,” he breathed. “And where is your guardian wolf?”

“Here.”

Cerissa hadn't heard the door open but was suddenly aware of the firm hand on her shoulder. Eskel squeezed gently, allowing her what he was sure would be the final moments with Antony in silence.

“Good,” Antony turned his face as if to look at her, but the sight had long left his eyes. He instead looked at the wall beside her, yet smiled all the same. “Look after each other, all of you. I'm so proud of you, Cerissa. Your father would have loved him.” He squeezed her hand weakly, “Eskel? Make sure she doesn't get herself into too much trouble.”

“I'll try, but make no promises.”

“That's all I ask from any of you,” he smiled, and in the next moment went still, his breath leaving him in a sigh.

There was no scream, not even a choked sob, like any of them would have thought. Instead Cerissa gently eased his fingers from hers, folding his arms across his chest and Olwen brushing his eyelids down to close them. She moved from the side of the bed so Cerissa could kiss his forehead gently. Her jaw ached from clenching it too tightly, the hole suddenly punched into her chest almost feeling literal.

“Safe journeys,” she muttered, repeating the same thing he used to tell her before she left for a hunt. “And may your path lead you somewhere warm.”

 

 

The moment he had heard some of the guards had spotted a young woman on a black horse riding through the city gates, he knew he was a dead man. Clutching a rough sack in his hands, trembling from some unknown force, he hurriedly stuffed anything of value he could in it. Part of him said it was pointless, that he knew the woman from the isles had reversed it and he would be dead in a few days time. But dying by his own sin, he reasoned, was better than dying by a witcher's blade.

As if on cue the door to his office opened so forcefully that it slammed into the wall behind it, the sudden gust sending pages previously on his deck flying about the room in hurried loops. He gulped, turning to face the woman who know stood in the doorway. Yellow-green eyes ablaze, she only sighed and spoke in a voice that was disarmingly patient.

“Why?”

“Why what?” He coughed, feeling as though the air was being pulled from his lungs. “Why did I kill that troublesome man? If it weren't for him, I would have never had to deal with the freak you are,” he hacked out a cough so forceful he clutched at his ribs. “Should have died in that raid those years back with your parents.” He coughed again, flecks of blood clinging to his lips. “So what, here to kill me or watch as that damned curse takes me?”

“I won't stain my blades with your blood, killing you quickly would be a mercy,” she shook her head.

“Then why even come here if you're not-”

She wordlessly pulled a vial of oil out of the pouch at her hip, uncorking it and holding it slightly tilted above the threshold. He froze, and she grinned, no doubt now able to hear his heart racing.   
  
“Speak quickly and I won't pour,” she hissed. “I know someone paid you off. Who?”

“The hunters,” he stammered, eyes still fixed on the vial in her fingers.

“You were nervous that day I came to your office and asked about the contract Eskel accepted in my absence. Why?”

“I-I-” he stopped, gritting his teeth for a moment. She quirked an eyebrow, tilting the vial down a little more so a few drops of oil fell to the cool stone floor. “There was some man- never seen him before in my life, I swear. Said he worked with the hunters,” he hurried through his words, fingers now clutching the bag in his hands so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Had eyes that glowed like yours.”

“A witcher?”

“N-no, don't think so. No swords, his pupils didn't look like a cat's. They just glowed. He spoke in a hushed tone, promised wealth beyond measure if I helped him rid this town of its curse as he put it.” He coughed so hard that he doubled over, tremors spreading through him. “Papers are in my desk if you don't believe me!” He gasped, “Don't kill me!”

“I wonder if you allowed Antony that same decision,” she sighed, righting the vial long enough to come over to his desk and take the papers in the drawer he indicated. “Funny how facing death makes someone feel so human,” she mused, making her way back to the door and the mayor watched in horror when she tilted the vial as she walked, leaving a trail of the oil.

“With all the papers here it'll catch quickly. Best hurry.”

He could only blink before she traced a shape in the air in front of her and the oil went up in flames. He screamed, hurriedly throwing his sack over his shoulder. Watching her turn away with a snort of disgust, it quickly spread to the pages and before he even reached the door, the room was filled with flames. Smoke choking him, he collapsed to the ground in another fit of coughing, screaming soundlessly when the fire began to lick at his clothing.

 

 

Cerissa only paused to drop the papers in her study, not bothering to read them, and instead changed out of her thin leathers into the set from Eskel. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her as she fastened all the ties and belts into place, scowling when neither of them said a word. She wished he would lecture her, say anything to discourage her, but instead he leaned against the door frame with an even look that annoyed her more than anything he could have said would. He sighed gently, instead coming over to straighten her sword harness.

“So what's your plan?”

“There's an axillary building in the lower districts they've been using since I burned Kazmer's office. Mayor's testimony suggests a mage, maybe even a demon.” She pursed her lips in thought. “Bring both swords either way, maybe a handful of dimeritium bombs in case.”

He nodded, “Do you want me to come or would you rather handle this alone?”

“You'd let me go alone?”

“If that's what you want.”

“Not what I asked.”

He sighed, “You're not the same woman I brought back to the manor bleeding over a year ago. And I'm not going to try to rob you of your vengeance. So the question stands, do you want me there or not?”

In truth she wasn't used to having the choice, at least having it so obviously offered to her. They had slipped into an easy rhythm when working together, but she had easily made her own style for when she was working alone. Thinking back on the fortune teller's premonition, she scowled for a few seconds before dismissing the thought. Again she opened her mouth to place the decision on him, but his even look reflected in the mirror stopped her.

 _Just speak your mind_.

“Yes.”

“You don't sound certain. You can tell me no.”

“But then you'd worry.”

“Let me share a secret,” he gently tugged at her, getting her to turn to face him. “I would worry even if I was there. Now, what do you want to have happen?”

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the tension in her shoulders. “I want you there.”

“Give me a few minutes to get my gear together.”

 

 

He might as well not have been there, the building warping the moment the two walked into it. Cerissa coughed, the same feeling of choking from the day the bruxa attacked creeping back into her chest. Despite it being midday, the room was dark. Suddenly pushed from behind, she heard a laugh as she tumbled forward several steps. She turned, one hand on her silver sword, but found the same swirling darkness that had greeted her.

“Your companion will be of no help to you,” A man stepped out what looked like a portal, his entrance bringing a sudden gust of wind that sent her medallion humming. Dressed in a surgeon's uniform, he sighed and shook his head in disappointment. “Do sheath your sword, dear. No need for that right now.” Cerissa refused, instead setting her jaw. “So stubborn. Alright, have it your way. If it's a fight, I'll give you one. But in place of your precious blade, I propose a different challenge.”

“Afraid of fighting me for real?”

“Me against a witcher?” he laughed, “Surely you jest, dear. You've already heard of me from both the hunters and your now late mayor. I knew you were coming.” He shrugged, “The person who called me to this world was killed by your blade, but I am still bound. So I propose a challenge. Win, and I release you and your companion with your lives.”

“And if I lose?”

The grin that split his lips to reveal sharp teeth made a chill run up her spine, “Best not lose then, dear.”

 

 

Again she stood in the castle where she trained, in her room on the third level. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she saw a younger version of herself. Emerald eyes with round pupils instead of slits, she was wearing a thin dress. Her face was flushed pink and cheeks plump, eyes full of life. No visible scars on her jaw and neck, she could still feel them if she brushed her fingers over the otherwise unblemished skin.

“I had to make the playing field even, dear,” came the voice of the man from before. “Here, you are as you were before you were made a witcher but when, if, you leave this place you will be no different than when you came. You have an hour to solve the riddle and find your way out of this place. Once you leave this room, your time begins. Ready?”

She nodded wordlessly.

“Impress me: Until I am measured, I am not known. Yet how you miss me when I have flown! What am I?”

 

 

She hurried down the spiraling stone staircase, bothered to find he had not lied when he had told her it was if she was not a witcher here. Her reaction was time was slowed when a stair collapsed under her foot, barely managing to stop her forward motion and instead tumbled backwards. Cerissa cursed under her breath, fumbling to her feet, and carefully picked her way over the crumbling stone.

“Until I measured, I am not known,” she repeated to herself, “Yet you miss me when I have flown...” Stepping down from the bottom step and looking around the hall with a sigh, she tried her best to ignore the figures that sat at the tables and watched her carefully.

“That's Fereal's new apprentice,” One muttered when she passed by, sneering at her. “That girl will never make a half decent monster slayer, she's never worked a day in her life. Don't know what he sees in her.”

 _Until I am measured, I am not known. Yet you miss me when..._ She stopped, frowning. “When what happens?” She blinked, giving herself a headache from trying to remember the words of the riddle. A scowl coming to her lips, she plopped herself at an empty table at the far corner and massaged her temples.

“Until I am measured, I am not known. Yet you miss me when-” she stopped, scowl only deepening when she realized she did not even remembered why she was trying so hard to remember the words to that certain phrase. “Something is wrong,” she muttered, eyes flying around the room.

Outside the windows, it seemed like any other day. Light filtered in through the dark glass, making the dancing dust particles in the air visible when they passed through the beams of light. The stone around her was cool and despite the blazing fire in the hearth behind her there was a chill that ran up her spine. She was supposed to be doing something. There something she needed to do. One hand rubbing at her neck, she jumped at the thickened ridge of skin she felt under her fingertips. There hadn't been anything there this morning, had there?

 _Forty five minutes_. A voice whispered at the back of her mind so suddenly she jumped.

“Cerissa,” Came a voice that was gentle and so familiar, her eyes flying upwards to look at the older witcher who had addressed her. He smiled, not unkindly, and motioned for her to come with him. “Dodging your training drills? Come now, child. We're already behind schedule.”

“You're dead,” she muttered, not knowing how or why she knew that. He was standing right in front of her, eyes warm despite everything. He was breathing, there was no way he could be-

There was a small vibration against her chest, and she reached up to touch it when he grabbed her hand to stop her. “How can I be dead? I'm obviously right here, you silly girl.” His hand was cold, as if ice was touching her.

She pulled her hand away, getting to her feet. “Fareal died protecting me from witch hunters.” Cerissa swallowed nervously, once again reaching to feel for what was causing the vibrations and this time feeling a heavy pendant under her fingers. Rough edges that felt like points with a runic design carved into a ridge that felt like a beak, her brow furrowed.

“There haven't been hunters in Kovir in years, girl,” Fereal frowned. “How hard did you hit your head yesterday? Perhaps it's better that we-”

“No,” she shook her head, “I already went through the Trial of Grasses. I've already done all my apprentice training.”

“How can that be when-” Cerissa forced a deep breath, pressing her fingers against the sharp edges of her necklace to keep focused on an unseen reality she felt almost stupid for believing in. The older man cursed, “What are you holding, dear girl, when-”

She took a step back, “My medallion. I'm already a full fledged witcher. This is an illusion.” She wasn't saying it to him, more to reassure herself. “Now that bloody riddle-”

_Thirty minutes._

“Until I am measured, I am not known. Yet how you miss me when I have flown...” She paused, realizing she knew the answer, the world around her freezing in that instant. She glared at the copy of her late teacher, reaching in blind faith for the silver sword on her back and grinning when she felt smooth leather under her fingers. She gripped the handle firmly, drawing it with a satisfying sound of scraping metal.

Cerissa was relieved to find it was future her's sword, glistening red with tan leather wrapped on the grip.

“Time,” she nearly yelled the word, slashing at the illusion of the older witcher and smirking when the castle around her melted like turpentine had been spilled on an oil painting.

The same man as before was now on her knees in front of her, a thick red line carved into his chest. He laughed, the darkness ebbing away until they were in a dimly lit room that looked like an office of some sort. Cerissa kept the blade trained to his throat, glaring at him.

“Well done, dear. Never expected you to solve it nearly as quickly as you did.”

“Where's Eskel? You swore he'd be unharmed.”

“And I keep my promises. Your companion is in the next room, none the wiser. Now do be hasty, dear. You wouldn't want to keep your king waiting.”

Cerissa hesitated, so he instead gripped her blade with both hands and drove it into his throat. He smirked when she gasped, breathing heavily for several moments as he choked on blood. A small trickle forming at the corner of his lips, he sighed in relief before falling sideways with a soft exhale. Numbly, she coaxed her sword free from his flesh and slipped it back into its scabbard.

 _Thank you, little witcher._ Came the voice of the creature, this time lacking the chill that once accompanied it.

 

Shaking off her disbelief, she instead went to the next room and was relieved to find it was the figure had promised. No visible wounds, Eskel lay against one of the walls and been made to look as though he had simply collapsed. Cerissa smiled, despite herself, and knelt down to nudge him gently. He stirred, blinking up at her, before pushing himself upright.

“What happened? I remember walking in with you, then nothing.”

“Illusion. Pretty powerful one,” she provided. “Think it was a demon, gave me a riddle to solve in exchange for our lives. It sent me back to before I went through the trials and tried to make me think I was still an apprentice.”

“Wouldn't the eyes give it away?”

She shook her head, “They were deep green again, caught my reflection in a mirror. I didn't have any scars and was wearing simple clothes instead of my leathers. But touch gave it away.” She stood, offering a hand and helping him to his feet. “Felt my medallion humming once I realized something was wrong after reaching for my neck.”

“Never thought that tick would save your life,” he smirked, getting to his feet. “Let's get home for now.”

“Yeah, we still need to have a funeral for Antony,” she sighed heavily, “Probably burn him in backyard.”

“We'll talk about it there,” he gently took her hand, leading her out of building and back out into the steadily dimming evening light.

 


	18. On Endings

Cerissa took a deep breath, tossing the lit torch onto the oil-soaked wood pile. She had expected pain, had expected anger, but never had expected the nothingness that enveloped her as she watched the flames slowly begin to lick at the body of the man whom she had grown to see as a father. Taking a step back, she sighed and settled on the bottom step of the manor's porch.

The hunters could wait a few hours while she saw to this last favor for the man whom had served her faithfully over the years. He had always been the one to greet her when she opened the front doors, always been the one to subtly tidy up her study when he thought she wasn't paying attention or see to it that the witchers of the group always had what they needed before heading out on a hunt. Antony was a staple of this place, the one person that kept it running like no one else could so she would be able to turn her attention to more pressing matters. Marian had already offered to take over watching the family business when she went away while Cerissa looked for a new majordomo.

As if anyone could replace Antony.

He had been the one to braid her hair as a child, been the one to taught her how to dance. Antony taught her how to play Gwent, bought her the cards that would become the deck she still played to this day. Cerissa sighed, admitting to herself that as far back as she could remember she always remembered the man to have graying hairs and maybe it had been out of blind hope that she ignored the limp he began to develop in the recent months.

He smiled when they were looking but he settled heavily in an armchair in the foyer and thought no one was paying attention, she could see the tightening around his eyes and hear the sharp inhale of breath.

The snapping sound of the few wood planks that were used to raise his body off the stone filled the otherwise quiet courtyard. Most of the handful of staff at the manor house was gathered, many of the younger workers who had only known working under Antony crying to their friends or fighting back tears. And with a small amount of bitterness, Cerissa wished she could share in their tears. Marian stood by two of the other housekeepers, head bowed and lips moving in a silent prayer. Feeling Cerissa watching her, she looked up and offered a weak smile before hugging one of the younger maids around the shoulders.

Amriel sniffed from his perch on one of the lower flowerbeds, a few tears trickling down his cheeks. Eyes locked on the blaze in an absent way, he showed no notice of the arm Olwen slipped around his waist. He swallowed roughly when she buried her face in his shoulder, absently scratching at her hair before turning to kiss the top of her head. Cerissa couldn't quiet make out what he whispered to her, but it got the slightest shake of Olwen's shoulders that she hoped was a small laugh.

A soft smile graced her lips when Eskel settled on the step next to her, reaching for her hand. “I'll probably take some of the ashes to his family crypt in Toussaint,” she muttered without looking at him.

“Some?”

“He told me once upon a time he wanted some scattered to the wind at the port and some scattered in the gardens so that he could always be there for me. The rest, he said, he wanted interred with the rest of his family just outside of Beauclair.”

“How did he come to Kovir if he's from that far south?”

“The same reason witchers will frequent the ports here,” she offered a small smile, “More money. He sent coin home to his remaining family.”

Silence fell on the courtyard again after that for several hours, many of the workers going back inside while Cerissa tended to the pyre to keep it burning long enough to burn Antony's remains. Amriel had gone back inside with Olwen, yawning despite his preference for staying up late, leaving Cerissa and Eskel to watch over what remained of the pyre for the next few hours.

Once the majority of the flames had died down, he gently nudged her to get her attention and handed her a small envelope. Made of heavy parchment that smelt of a mixture of something bitter but sweet, she could tell part of the fragrance was lilac, it was held closed with a clump of wax bearing a seal she didn't recognize.

“Wasn't going to give this to you until much later, but since it sounds like you'll be going to Toussaint anyway...” He offered a small smile at the confusion that flickered across her features. “Open it later.”

Pursing her lips, she tucked it away in one of her pockets.

 

 

Once the nothing was left but ash, pieces of bone, and some scraps of hair that would not burn the two waited for the remains to cool enough before carefully collecting them in several urns and tucking them in her study for safe keeping.

Once she was sure Eskel was asleep that night, she reached for the letter she had left on her nightstand. Popping the wax seal, she shifted in her her lover's careful grip so she could hold the note up to read it.

 _Lady Witcher Cerissa Lamonia Of Kovir and Poviss,_ it started in plain handwriting.

_I hope this letter finds you well. I hear from Eskel that you dream of visiting Toussaint. With this letter I have also sent a bottle of Sepremento from Corvo Bianco- consider it an open invitation to visit should you get the chance. It would be an honor to show Beauclair to the woman I have heard so much about. All good things, I assure you._

_Regards,  
Geralt_

Cerissa blinked, staring at the parchment in wide eyed wonder, before nudging Eskel awake. “Is this from who I think it is?” She nearly hissed as he yawned, blinking away sleep.

Reading only the first line or two of the letter she held out indignantly, he laughed softly. “You did say you wanted to meet Wolf one day.”

“Eskel!”

“I fail to see the problem here,” he shrugged, gently taking the letter from her and leaning over her to put it back on her nightstand. “It would certainly make the trip a little more interesting.” He sighed, smoothing down her hair and tugging her down to get settled with him again. “Trust me, it'll be fine and you'll enjoy meeting him. Take Olwen and make a small break out of it.”

“You're not coming?” She stopped him before he even opened his mouth to respond, “Let me guess: If you want me to.”

“Was actually going to say Toussaint and I don't get along very well, I stick out like a sore thumb. So if you don't mind, I'll stay here and look for work instead.”

 


	19. Epilogue

If anyone had ever said I would be sitting in the garden at a vineyard sipping from a glass of wine and talking with the workers that walk past while I waited to meet someone I thought more myth than man, I would have stared at that them with an even look before dismissing them entirely.

And yet, here I was.

Beauclair was beautiful, like something straight out of one of Olwen's books. Much warmer than Kovir, the sky was clear for longer than a few hours a day. Olwen had declined visiting with me, snickering when I told her who the invitation was from, and instead turned her attention to one of the many open air markets that had quickly become her favorites. She claimed she loved the ability to buy, as she put it, “almost anything on the Continent.” It certainly was something much different from the shouting of the vendors back home.

“Seems Bernabus-Basil certainly made sure you felt welcome.”

I started slightly, having been lost in my thoughts enough not to hear the gentle crunch of approaching footsteps. Fighting a faint flush, I scooted over to make room on the low bench. Laughing softly to himself, Geralt settled next to me and for a long moment we both sat in silence.

Of all the questions I had thought up over the years, of all the things I wanted to say, instead I said nothing. Though I knew he was the same age as Eskel, I told myself it was the white hair and beard that made him seem much older. He had a similar calm air about him, though. Any anxiety that might have been bothering me this morning finally dissolved. There wasn't any discomfort in the silence between us and despite the relative animosity besides what we had heard of each other from others, it felt oddly like I was just catching up with an old friend.

I dismissed it as the same relative ease I first felt with Eskel, then Olwen, upon learning they were both witchers.

“So how did you two meet?” He asked so quietly I almost didn't think he said anything.

“Hm,” I pursed my lips, “Do you want the long version of how we came to this moment or just the short answer to your question?”

Geralt glanced over his shoulder before smiling and instead turning his attention to me. The same intense gaze I was so used to, yet different in a way I couldn't quite place. “We've got time, tell me everything.”

“Well,” I started, trying to pick to a good way to start the story. “I live in Enna, just south of the capitol in Kovir. It seemed like normal business when I came home from a contract I had taken on a crypt a wraith had claimed as its lair. I found that a contract had been posted while I was gone and taken by another witcher had taken it. Going back to the manor after trying this weird energy that had my medallion buzzing, I found a bruxa waiting outside the grounds. And well,” I spun the ring on my finger, trying to ward off the old habit of putting my hand to the scar on my neck, “To be blunt, I got my ass kicked.” I let out a snort of laugh, glancing down at the silver lines on my arms and felt a faint smile tug at my lips. “And then guess who just happened to wander into my life to save it?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this scene in my head about halfway through writing the rest of the story, and I thought getting to meet Geralt was oddly fitting for an ending for some reason. 
> 
> *Possible spoilers if you have not read the full story* Now that all of part 1 is posted, I think it worth mentioning that originally OGW was just going to be a two/three shot that ended shortly after Eskel steps in to save her because I wrote it as "what if?" play off of his dialogue at the funeral after the battle at Kaer Morhen in 3 ("I'm heading south toward Lormark[...]After that, who knows?"). He and Cerissa were originally going to go separate ways after she recovered but the more I wrote, the more they tended to take a life of their own. 
> 
> Either way, it was a fun adventure to write and I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
